You Stole My Smile, But I Gave You My Heart
by truglasgowgal
Summary: Alex returns with a gift for Neal. The problem is, he's not entirely sure what to do with it. Needless to say, it pretty much turns his world upside down. Includes interaction with all, or nearly all, of the characters.
1. Chapter 1

So, this has been in the works for a _long _while, but with my tendency to slow up/stop updates after a certain point where the muse becomes uncooperative, I figured I'd try finish it before I posted. It sort of worked – frankly, I'm amazed I lasted this long. Patience is not my strong suit. The newest few episodes sort of scuppered some of my ideas, but I reckon I managed to work around them ;)

Hope you enjoy…

* * *

**Title:** You Stole My Smile, But I Gave You My Heart  
**Disclaimer:** The only thing that's mine is the only 'real' non-canon thing in this. lol not to give the game away or anything.  
**Summary: **Alex returns with a gift for Neal. The problem is, he's not entirely sure what to do with it. Needless to say, it pretty much turns his world upside down.

.

_"Every story can have a perfect ending. You just have to wait for it."  
_**_Marisa Draper_**

.

Chapter One

.

_"We all have big changes in our lives that are more or less a second chance."  
_**_Harrison Ford_**

.

The letter is waiting for him on his bedside table when he returns later that night.

He recognizes her handwriting instantly, in that one scrawl of black ink that addresses the contents to him, and him alone.

He flips the envelope over and smiles when he sees her seal: a faint outline of the lipstick creases of her mouth. He inhales her perfume like she's standing next to him, pressing the kiss to his skin and imprinting herself on him forever.

**_Neal, _**it reads, **_I hope this finds you well._**

It's already more formal than he's used to; their notes to one another usually quick and to the point, even coded, playful and light. There's a seriousness to this, and it has his mind whirring and his gut churning already.

**_My circumstances have changed, and you're the only one I can trust with this. _**

If she's got herself in trouble, he's only too happy – well ok, maybe not _happy_, per se… actually, no, he is happy to help her out – for one, it livens up those monotonous days at the office a bit.

He's to meet her in the park, the exact location of which has him frowning a touch, tomorrow, just after noon. There's nothing like fair warning between two old friends.

He rolls his eyes; wondering if she's really in trouble at all, or if she's just enjoying playing on this vibe of mystery. He'll use Mozzie as a consult; when the man actually bothers to turn up.

**_Don't hate me, Neal. I was only doing what was best for all of us._**

Now _that_, that has him worried.

**_P.S. don't worry about your little government leash, it's one of the reasons I'm doing this._**

Needless to say, he doesn't get much sleep that night.

.

"Do you know anything about this?" he asks his partner; the man has been oddly compliant with his requests all morning, and frankly, it's more than a little suspicious.

"Do I know anything about what?" Peter responds, casting him a look that lasts far longer than it should when he's at the wheel of a car.

"Eyes on the road, Peter," he rebukes automatically.

His partner heaves a sigh, but does as he's told, which makes Neal smile despite himself.

"_This_," he says, holding up the letter for emphasis. "Do you know what this is about?"

Peter bats his hands away, scolding, "One minute you're telling me to plant my eyes straight ahead, next minute you're waving sheets of paper in front of me."

Neal just rolls his eyes; the deflection is feeble at best.

"How you had the Bureau chasing you for six years is beyond me," his partner grumbles. "Memory like a sieve."

"You've spoken to her, haven't you?" he says instead.

"Who?" Peter prompts, casting him an actual glance at this point, time appropriate.

"Alex," he practically sighs; honestly it's like talking to a child. And Peter calls _him_ the juvenile in their partnership.

"_Your_ Alex?" is the reply, and Peter lifts an eyebrow, briefly looking across at him again.

"She told you not to say anything, didn't she?" Neal surmises at that.

He rolls his eyes and slouches down in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and tipping the rim of his fedora down over his eyes.

"Wake me when we get there," he instructs his partner.

"You know the petulant child act is getting pretty old," Peter tells him.

"Whatever, _Dad_," Neal responds, mildly peeved at the whole affair.

.

He spots her instantly, and his eyes remain trained on her form as he and Peter walk along the path towards her.

"Alex," he says on approach.

She turns at his voice and after a beat her lips lift into a smile. "Neal. You came."

"Your letter was decidedly cryptic," he replies easily, taking a seat next to her on the park bench. "You know how curious I get when you tease me by withholding the details."

Alex lifts her shoulder in a half-hearted attempt at a shrug. "Needs must," is all she says to that.

And then she turns to Peter and nods her head in acknowledgement.

"I see you brought the cavalry," she remarks with a light smirk. "Afternoon Agent Burke."

"Ms. Hunter," his partner responds in kind.

"I'm fairly certain you're a little more acquainted than that," Neal comments, and glances between the two of them.

The expression that flickers across Alex's face does not go unnoticed; and her gaze is trained on his partner still, which only serves to further intensify Neal's desire to know what the Hell is going on.

"So, you _do_ know what this is all about," he says then, and swivels round to fit Peter with a look.

For his part, the other man remains silent.

"Come on then," Neal prompts, looking between the pair once more. "Out with it."

"I think I'll give you two a minute," Peter tells them, and Neal's brow furrows.

"Why?" he asks, still in high-spirits, because obviously she can't be in that much trouble if she's not even _really_ bothering with the cloak and dagger routine.

His partner just nods and gives him a look that says _trust me_, and then he claps Neal on the shoulder and turns to walk a few steps in the direction they just came.

"Neal, I – " Alex starts, and then cuts herself off.

He continues to watch her and she takes a breath in, straightens up and nods.

"Alright," she says, although it seems like it's more like he's psyching herself up than agreeing to do as he's asking of her.

She gulps, and his eyes drift down to watch the bobble in her throat, and now he really wants to know, because honestly there's quite a few pieces here and it's more annoying than not that he's been unable to put them together thus far.

"The little one," Alex says, pointing across the grass to the smallest child in the group gathered together near the jungle gym. "With the messy brown hair and the green and gray dress covered in dirt."

She rolls her eyes a little and releases a small laugh wrapped in a sigh.

"With the ridiculous _accessory_ on her head," she adds, fondness arching her words.

And then she turns to meet his eyes, and doesn't move an inch.

"Her name's Camille," Alex tells him. "She's six years old, and she's your daughter."

Well, damn.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

A/N: I realise there's quite a few fics out there with this subject/plot whatever, but I'm hoping you'll give mine a try anyway, jus 'cos ;)

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think – it really means a lot! :)  
Steph  
xxx


	2. Chapter 2

Hope you enjoy…

* * *

Previously

"Her name's Camille," Alex tells him. "She's six years old, and she's your daughter."

Well, damn.

.

Chapter Two

.

_"Change always comes bearing gifts."  
**Price Pritchett**_

.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but words are escaping him at the moment.

Go figure.

"Neal?" Alex says, after a minute has gone by in which he's fairly certain he's forgotten to breath; yup, lost all ability completely. "Neal, say something. Please."

"You really know how to break the news to a person, don't you?" he hears his partner remark from behind him. "I thought you were going to ease into it."

"I was," she answers, and her voice is sort of feeble as she shrugs. "He just kept looking at me, and – I forgot the whole speech I had prepared and – look, now he knows, ok? So just – do something! That's why you're here, isn't it? So, fix him!"

"Neal, buddy, it's Peter," his partner's voice is so much closer now, and when he blinks it's Peter's face he sees when he opens his eyes. "Come on, Neal, just breathe for me here. Last thing we need you to do is black out on us. Just breathe. Come on. That's it."

He nods along with Peter and drags in breath after breath, offers his partner a shaky smile when he thinks he's got the hang of it again.

So naturally that's the moment a tiny pair of legs come sprinting towards them and he comes face to face with the daughter he's never met before.

He thinks he should get points for his composure.

At least he didn't throw up on her.

"Mommy," are the first words he hears her say; directed at Alex, who is her mother, along with him as the father, of the child, who is standing directly in front of him, and is now staring at him with big blue eyes and a curious expression on her gorgeous little face. "What's wrong with him?"

"This is my friend," Alex says, and she puts her arm around the child's waist, anchoring her to the spot as the girl leans against her legs and continues to just blink at him.

The child – the girl – _his_ child – _his_ girl – _his_ daughter. Well, _their_ daughter.

Camille.

He tests out the name in his mind.

Tests out the term: my daughter, _our_ daughter, Camille.

It doesn't feel completely foreign, but then he's not tried it out on his tongue yet.

If he falters, if there's a misstep, is that an indication of what he'll be like as a father? Does that mean he's failed her before he's even begun?

"You remember I told you we were going to see some of my friends?" Alex continues, breaking him from his train of thought, and he sees her gently nudge the six-year-old in the side to regain her attention as well.

Camille nods and the movement causes a ripple effect through the light brown waves that cascade over her shoulders. He really wishes she wouldn't because he can't seem to keep his eyes off her and he's feeling somewhat nauseous at the moment.

"Well, this is Neal," his _friend_ tells _their daughter_. "And his friend, Peter."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Peter," the little girl – _his_ little girl – says, and he watches her tiny hand reach out to shake his partner's, her face so bright he thinks he's developing a migraine to top it all off. "I'm Camille Hunter."

Well, that's just peachy.

He feels the heat of an added gaze on him, and suddenly has the urge to wrap himself up in the collar of his coat and hide from their prying eyes.

"Neal's not really feeling himself at the moment," Peter tells the youngster, who nods slowly as if processing this and wondering if she should be as skeptical of this explanation to the situation as the puckered brow she's copied from her mother suggests.

"So, I shouldn't shake his hand then?" Camille asks, and she brushes her bangs out of her eyes and looks at him like she's sizing him up. "Or introduce myself, like I'm s'posed to?"

He'd laugh if he weren't so scared that he actually _would _throw up on her if he opens his mouth.

That would just be a phenomenal first meeting with his only child, now wouldn't it?

"Why don't you go back and play and I'll call you over when we're ready to go?" Alex suggests, and by the way his head is pounding once more with her rapid nodding of the head, he's going to take it that the six-year-old isn't exactly adverse to this plan.

And then something completely unexpected happens.

A tiny hand reaches out and nudges his chin, and his mouth snaps shut; he hadn't even realized it had been open. She's thrown him off his game already.

"Momma says you shouldn't leave your mouth open 'less you're catchin' flies," Camille informs him smartly, and then she throws him a smile.

He merely blinks in return, her words, her touch, sinking in.

Then she looks directly at him and says, "Want me to make it rain?"

He wonders if all children have this wonderful ability to switch topics so easily, so quickly.

Camille points to the large feather headdress sitting at a slight angle atop the brown locks, interspersed with highlights of blonde, that trail in chaotic succession down her back. "I'm the Chief," she tells him. "I can make it rain. That'll cool you off, right? Make you feel better?"

He blinks at her, and then he bursts out laughing.

No sick, no gasping for air, just pure joy spilling from his lips.

"All better," she proclaims to her mother and his partner with a proud smile.

He's still laughing, his eyes watering now, because his daughter, _his daughter_, is the most amazing creation ever to have graced this earth. He's sure of it.

"I guess the powers work in mysterious ways," Camille says sagely, and then she turns and flounces back across the grass to the little gaggle of children who welcome her back with open arms and excited cheers.

.

"We," he manages to get out, looking pointedly at Alex, when he's finally slowed his hilarity enough to light chuckling. "We need to talk."

She nods, because obviously she's been expecting that.

"But right now, I'm just going to revel in the moment a little longer," he informs them.

"She is a character," Peter remarks.

He looks up and follows his partner's gaze to see Camille standing in the center of the circle that the other children have created around her, throwing her hands around dramatically and basically appearing to relish the moment before her audience.

"That's definitely you," his partner awards him.

And Neal's face breaks into a smile, because he can see it too.

Even if the mix mash of him and Alex had created a little girl with smooth green eyes and shocking red hair and a curious blend of features to go with such an obscure DNA output, he thinks he'd still be able to tell. Even if the resemblance between mother and daughter wasn't so clear, and his input took more than the results garnered from simply asking her to open her eyes, he thinks he'd still be able to tell.

He _can _tell; it's obvious, plain to see.

He doesn't need to think about the 'just in case', because he knows Peter wouldn't have brought him here if he wasn't sure, if he hadn't already done a paternity test amid everything else.

She's _his_.

.

"There's some things I want to say, and then I'll let you rant and rave and say whatever it is you want to say to me, ok?" Alex says.

He nods, and she takes a breath, mimicking his action.

"I had every intention of telling you about her," she starts. "It wasn't the plan to keep her from you."

Her laugh has a bitter edge and she rolls her eyes.

"There was no plan," she rephrases. "There was just me – _pregnant_ – and not having a clue what to do, and you, out there, somewhere."

He gulps, because as much as he wants to curse her out or shake her until she sees sense, he has a feeling that what she's going to tell him will, in fact, make sense and he won't even have it in him to disagree with her.

"To begin with it had nothing to do with Kate, it was simply our lives at the time, and the fact that the FBI was on your tail and with the aftermath of the _first _music box job…" she trails off. "And then it was about Kate."

He stares at her, and he works his jaw, resisting so _so_ hard against saying what he wants to; because maybe he was wrong about agreeing with her, if this is the route she chose.

"It was about you being so blinded by her that nothing else seemed to matter. You didn't come visit me in hospital," she continues. "And then you got showy and _sloppy_ and you got yourself caught and _thrown in prison_."

She takes a deep breath and he can tell she's trying to calm herself as well.

"I was going to tell you," she says; and there's something in her voice that makes him believe her. "I could overlook the Kate angle, because I knew as much as you loved her, no matter what you felt for me, you'd still love our daughter. I knew that, Neal, I did, so for that I am sorry."

She blinks, and her voice is thick with emotion, and he gulps because he's yet to say anything, but he can feel himself choking up too.

"The music box brought a lot of heat, even while you were behind bars, I was on and off for months, going underground at even the slightest hint of someone getting too close, asking the wrong questions. It brought a lot of unnecessary attention my way," she tells him. She shakes her head at the antics she likely had to go through, and then stares hard at him as she says, "No matter what you may think of me, I've only ever wanted to keep Camille safe."

He can believe that.

Her name is well known in their world, even by those who've never put face to their own assertions that she is one of the best in the field.

He's never heard so much as a peep that would even hint that she has a child. Then again, he's never heard anything that would indicate that he has a child either, until today.

"When we crossed paths once you got out of prison, you were still so intent on finding the music box, so enraptured by Kate – "

She shakes her head, and then lifts her eyes to meet his.

"I couldn't put her in harm's way like that," she says. "To be used as bait against you? When I'd worked so hard to keep that from happening by the people I was in league with? It wasn't an option, Neal."

He swallows, because while this is all true, and he can see the logic; it's really starting to hurt. To know that he has a daughter, a daughter who is six years old, a daughter who he is only finding out about, only meeting, today.

He knows she was just being a mother, he knows she was just looking out for their child; but he never got the option of doing that, for six years, he never got the chance to be her father.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think – it really does mean a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

.

"_I'm a loose bolt of a complete machine  
What a match, I'm half-doomed and you're semi-sweet  
And I'd promise you anything for another shot at life  
Imperfect boys with their perfect lives  
Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy."  
_'_**Disloyal Order Of Water Buffaloes', Fall Out Boy**_

.

"Why now?" is the first thing he asks after a long bout of silence has settled over them.

"I buried my Uncle last week," Alex tells him, and he's not quite sure what to make of that.

"I'm sorry," he says automatically, his voice still hoarse with the abandonment.

She nods, bows her head for a moment.

From what he'd learned before, Alex didn't _have_ any family. Then again; as evidenced by the sheer presence of Camille; people have a tendency of existing when they're not supposed to. He can personally attest to that one.

"He was my mother's best friend, had been in love with her for as long as I can remember," she explains, bridging the gap between what he knows and what she lived through. "He practically raised me."

He watches her; the way her lips move as they form the words, the way her eyes soften and crinkle at the edges as she delves into the topic, the way she's trying to hide what it really means to her in the clasping of her tightly locked fingers.

"Cami stayed with him, did everything with him," she informs him. "And she cried for hours when he died. I still don't think she understands, but she was so distraught, I – "

He swallows, because already it upsets him to hear of his daughter being sad, that she was crying and he wasn't there to comfort her.

"He was wonderful with her, gave her the childhood my Grandpa gave me; one of the best men I've ever known," she says then, her voice colored with conviction, and a wry smile on her lips as her eyes glisten in the light.

He watches her, knowing she has more to say, and he lets her, because he needs to hear it.

"I realized that my daughter deserved it all. My Uncle raised me like I was his daughter and my Grandpa did the rest. Cami's never had a father figure, and I realized she needed that. She needed _you_," Alex clarifies. "I loved my Uncle, and I trusted him with the most important thing in my life, and before he died he told me I had to tell you about her, had to give you the chance to get to know her, and he was right."

She licks her lips, pauses for a moment, lets it all begin to sink in.

"I was doing my best to keep her safe, Neal, but I was also being selfish," she says, and then she shakes her head again, almost as a show of disagreement with herself. "I was keeping her from you, and she deserves to have what I had. She deserves the chance to have a father, Neal. She deserves to know you."

He pulls in a breath from his nose, doesn't dare open his mouth, for a completely different reason this time.

"And you deserve to know her," Alex finishes.

"She'll be safe, Alex," is the first thing he says; because he recognizes what she did, what she's doing, and he knows that this reassurance means everything to her, means everything to him.

She clears her throat, nods and smiles at him, gratitude on her face.

"I called your FBI friend, asked him if I came back to the city, if I let you to spend time with Cami, if I did that, could he keep her safe?" she recalls. "And do you know what he told me?"

"What?" he asks; breathes it out like it rests on the all-too-delicate wings of a butterfly.

"He said that if so much as a hand came near her, he would break it," she says, and she laughs a little. "He said he'd throw himself on the sidewalk so she had something to cushion her fall if she tripped – I did mention that it'd be easier to just catch her, since Tiny Tim over there has a habit of tripping over her own feet a ridiculous number of times, but he made his point."

"Does she get too excited, her feet can't keep up with her thoughts?" Neal inquires with a brief laugh, and watches her roll her eyes.

"I knew that had to be from you," Alex tells him, shaking her head. "I didn't gain that stupid moniker running rooftops because I had nine lives. Gotta be able to stay on your feet, Caffrey."

He shrugs. "Meh, she'll get there soon enough."

She nods, and they share a smile, because his affinity for acrobatics on the job can attest to that.

"He'd lay down his life for her, and he's only just meeting her now," Alex says. "He'd do that for you, Neal."

He ducks his head, and his lips fall into a watery smile, because Peter is the best man _he_ knows, and if Neal gets the chance to know his daughter, he can only hope that he'll be able to show her he can be half the man his partner is.

"The man freakin' loves you," she tells him then, her words shaped by the laugh that follows, and his face brightens, mood lifting as they share this moment.

This is the Alex he knows: teasing, and knowing, and constantly full of surprises.

He's not sure she'll ever quite be able to top this one though.

Doesn't think he could stand it if she so much as tried.

And they joke that he'll give Peter a heart attack – Alex can more than give him a run for his money if this is anything to go by.

.

He invites them all to June's for dinner and Alex face falls a little.

"Neal," she addresses, and he can tell she's trying to be kind.

He thinks motherhood might have had a good effect on her, but he can still see through her.

"Neal, I'm not going to tell her yet," she says, and she must've seen the myriad of emotions flash across his features like Rorschach's mask, because she adds quickly, "I'll tell her. I will. I just – I think it would be good if you got to know her a little, to ease her into it."

"Oh, so now you're all about the easing into it?" he remarks, that teasing lilt in his voice assuring her that he's not holding too much of a grudge for that one. She still could've phrased it a little better though; she is supposed to be a _con artist_, after all.

Alex shoots him a look. "She's six, Neal," she deadpans.

"And she's coming this way," his partner pipes up, with just enough warning for them to turn in time with the little girl, who comes to a screeching halt before her mother.

"You aren't leaving, are you?" Camille says, and then she looks to them all with a slight pout and big eyes that grow even wider when her eyebrows lift. "Without me? Without saying goodbye?"

Alex rolls her eyes and in a single movement swoops down and swings the child up in her arms to settle her on her hip.

"As if I could ever leave without saying goodbye to my little Chameleon," she says with ease, and Camille giggles and snuggles in close to her mother, imprinting her smile on Alex's face.

It's so strange, almost otherworldly, to see Alex like this. He can wrap his head around the fact she – they – have a daughter, barely; it's just the Mommy-dearest routine that goes with it and that she seems to have embraced whole. It's not like she was ever cold exactly, he just – well, he never really spent much time thinking of her as the maternal type.

In all honesty, he was more concerned with Kate and how she'd act in such a role, when they got out; when they got the house with the white picket fence and the 2.5 kids.

When his eyes refocus on the scene before him, he finds that his lips have lifted into a smile when he wasn't paying attention, and he thinks that's most telling of all. It looks so natural, what they have, mother and daughter; he doesn't know how he even doubted it could exist mere moments before.

It makes him hopeful for what's to come; hopeful that he may actually be able to live up to his own ideal of a Peter-Burke inspired father to his little girl.

.

"Can I run on ahead?" Camille asks her mother as soon as she sets her back on the ground.

"You can skip along in front of us where I can see you," Alex rephrases, and tilts her head to give a warning look to the girl, apparently well aware of the differing interpretations between mother-and-daughter.

While Neal's eyes are on the little figure before them, doing twirls and waving her hands in extravagant gestures, Peter offers Alex a lift to wherever it is they're going. She says that they're going back to their hotel, and when she mentions which one, Neal can't help but smile.

All his partner does is shake his head at her apparent 'no expense spared' attitude as he mutters, "Of course."

"Well, I could hardly have her stay anywhere within the vicinity of my own property here, and there was the demand of a swimming pool," she informs him smartly, and there's a tweak to her slightly pursed lips as she adds, "Not to mention, I only had a two mile radius to work with."

"How insensitive of me," Peter returns easily. "Wait, and I'll just extend that to accommodate both of your needs."

"Really?" Neal instantly responds; he can't help it.

Alex shoots him a look that matches his partner's all too closely and Peter deadpans, "No."

Apparently his scowl catches the eye of a rather perceptive six-year-old who is by his side a moment later with a frown on her face.

"Are you not feeling better, Mr. Neal?" she asks.

"I'm sorry?" he says, his eyebrows rising slightly in question.

"You don't look happy, and I fixed you," Camille responds.

"Ah," Neal intones, and then continues in a caricature of his own voice. "Do not fear, my fair maiden, it was simply a mishap; my dear friend Peter and your mother like to play tricks on me. They can be so cruel sometimes."

Her chin dips a fraction, and then a devilish smirk appears on her face as she replies, "Playing tricks on people can be fun."

Peter sighs and looks away, which just makes Alex grin; clearly she takes immense pride in this creation. He'll readily admit; he already feels the same way.

"Well, I would like to take this moment to formally introduce myself." He clears his throat and makes a big show of the theatrical bow he gives her as he continues, "My name is Neal Caffrey, and it is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Miss Camille."

He offers his hand and she takes it, and her little fingers slot perfectly into place alongside his own.

"I hope you will accept my apology and my sincerest regret for my rudeness earlier," he continues in the overly formal manner. "As well as my utmost gratitude to you for curing my ailment."

When he dips to drop a kiss to the little hand he holds in his own, her smile bursts into giggles, and he finds himself smiling uncontrollably in response to her unabashed joy.

"Charmed," the six-year-old tells him with a nod and a courtesy.

He straightens, and bows formally this time, like the gentleman he is; like the good influence she deserves to be surrounded by.

He sees Alex roll her eyes as she puts her hands on Camille's shoulders to steer her along the path ahead of him and Peter, and his smile intensifies.

"Come on you," she encourages. "You can practice your Broadway antics another day."

"I bet you loved it, Momma," Camille replies laughingly, and she looks up at her mother with a completely doting expression. "You can't help it, you love everything I do."

"Not for lack of trying," Alex says teasingly.

The six-year-old spins round and throws her arms around her mother's neck, weighing her down and giddily placing loud kisses all over her face until Alex lifts her up again.

"We'll see you tonight for dinner," she calls back, and Camille waves excitedly.

"Can't wait," Neal returns; and he honestly can't.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think  
Steph  
xxx


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

.

"_Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to be acutely aware of all I've taken for granted."  
_**_Sylvia Plath_**

.

The rest of the day is filled with mindless paperwork that he can barely contend with on a normal day, nevermind when his thoughts are consumed with the daughter he's just met. He's focusing on the positives; thinks maybe the fact he has a girl, not a boy, gives him less chance of parenting like his own father. He realizes he's grasping at straws, but it's all he has right now.

Peter suggests taking the rest of the afternoon off, but he thinks he'd probably go just as insane pacing the length of his room; at least in the office, he can be semi-productive in helping to achieve the Greater Good and all that. He calls June to tell her he's invited Elizabeth and Peter to dinner, and that Alex will be coming too, with a guest. Naturally, she's extremely accommodating; she comes bustling out of the adjoining room to greet him as he comes in from work, Alex and Camille hot on his heels having met him outside.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind, Neal, but Samantha's just over visiting," June tells him. "I said she could join us for dinner."

"Of course not, June. In fact there's someone I'd like you to meet," he responds, and then stands aside for the girl of the moment to take up her appropriate place.

"Good evening maam, I'm Camille Hunter," his daughter says as she strikes out her hand, her face brimming with delight at all the attention she's being showered with. "Thank you for inviting me and Mommy to dinner."

"You can call me June, my sweet," the elder says with a smile of her own, taking the young girl's proffered hand. "And you are most welcome."

June greets Alex and ushers her into other room to sit with her as the two youngsters become acquainted, while Neal goes upstairs to change.

When Peter and Elizabeth arrive later, Camille instantly runs to the outer threshold, rocking on her heels with her hands behind her back, until they notice her presence and send a smile her way.

"Evenin', Mr. Peter," she calls out with a grin and then she takes a big step forward and holds out her hand to the woman by his side. "You must be Elizabeth, I'm Camille Hunter. My Mommy's friends with Mr. Neal."

"Well, I'm very glad to meet your acquaintance, Camille," Elizabeth replies in kind, and then lifts her eyebrows to Neal and remarks, "Polite young thing, isn't she?"

"She went from a few words to complete sentences," Alex divulges as she steps into view; a fond smile directed towards her daughter as the girl looks up at her and she runs a hand affectionately over the light brown locks that cascade over Camille's shoulders. "I had to do something to try and keep her in line."

It's moments like this that Neal finds he enjoys the most; when he gains little tidbits here and there about Camille. When he can piece together what he's missed of his daughter's life like a mosaic memory.

"You're _really _pretty," the six-year-old pipes up then.

"Oh, well, thank you," Elizabeth replies, her smile accented by the slight blush in her cheeks. "You are a beautiful little girl. How old are you?"

"Six," she proclaims proudly. "But people never get it right 'cos I'm small, but Momma buys me clothes that don't make me look like a baby. I like your dress, and umm… you look good too, Mr. Peter, but – "

"But I look better?" his partner's wife fills in for his daughter, along with a wink. She lays a hand on Peter's chest and pats the spot above his heart as she teasingly reassures the youngster, "Don't worry, I think he'll just about cope with hearing that I'm the looks in the relationship."

"Mommy says it's good to give people compliments," Camille says, divulging her mother's tactics, which Neal can't help but chuckle at. "But I bet you're used to them, being so pretty an' all – 'bet Mr. Peter gives you them as well, _all_ the time."

"Charming too," Elizabeth adds with a laugh and inclines her head towards Alex.

When Neal looks up from Camille, he finds Alex's eyes on him as she replies, "That one's definitely hereditary."

She sends him a warm smile before joining in with Elizabeth's laughter as they make their way to the dining room.

.

"Hat off at the table, Cami," Alex instructs like it's instinctual, as they all take their seats and get settled.

"It's actually a headpiece." Camille seems to take great delight in correcting, eyes moving from Neal to Samantha to Neal again, though she does as she's told.

"Well, why don't you tell Samantha all about your _growing _collection – they take up most of her luggage space, you know," her mother teases in return.

The white wooly hat that drops just over her eyes, with the flaps falling well past her ears, and the large white and pink bunny ears on top obviously completes the ensemble that replaced the dirty, but colorful attire from earlier in the day.

She excitedly starts to chat to June's granddaughter, her hands lifting animatedly as she describes the different hats and headpieces and hair accessories that she has. She's so engrossed in it that at one point she kicks out, catching him beneath the table, so when he releases a quick gasp and looks down all he sees is the quick retreat of a little stone-colored Chino-clad leg printed with mini anchors and rolled up at the ankle.

He lifts his head up and sees Camille open her mouth to apologize, when her eyes suddenly widen and she drops her head to her chest to look at the stain that now covers her previously pristine white ruffled top.

"Oops," is all she has to say about that, though she has the decency to look vaguely repentant as her mother looks over at the damage.

Alex merely releases a small sigh and shakes her head.

"Missed my cardi though!" Camille exclaims proudly, flashing her mother a toothy grin as she gestures to the top that remains untouched by the spillage, still a perfect match to the shade of pink on her bunny ears.

While June goes to call on the maid and Elizabeth starts to explain various tricks to banishing stains, Alex just smiles and thanks them, but basically waves off their help. She doesn't seem too phased; apparently this is a daily occurrence. He tucks away that tidbit of information, and adds it to the pieces he's already collected, steadily putting together the character background that determines everything his daughter does.

He takes the moment to observe Camille's current attire. It's simple, but stylish, and of course she looks gorgeous; how could he not approve? Oh, and her wrists are covered in lots and lots of bangles and bracelets, which he assumes, she copies from her mother. It makes him smile to know she has such a childlike affinity for colors and costumes; he's still getting over his mild surprise that her mother allows her out the house like that though. Alex tends to dress in dark tones: _helps me blend into the night – shadow-walker, remember?_ her voice fills his mind, and the memory of that time has him shifting his concentration across to her.

She looks _good_, as she always does, but seeing her like this; her gaze flickering over to their daughter every minute or so, the way her eyes swirl the emotions and her lips curve up on her cheeks, as she reacts in sync with the six-year-old, it's… fascinating. Motherhood really does suit her. Who'd have thought?

While Camille is undoubtedly capable of speaking solely to adults, it is quite obvious that she'd rather Samantha entertain her for the evening. As much as Neal wants to engage her in what he just _knows _would be thrilling chatter, he doesn't want to push it. The link is tentative, and he knows all too well the suspicion that can arise from coming on too strong.

He hates to think that he's conning his daughter; but certain rules and behavior still apply. So, when the adults all move to the other room, he opts to stay where he is and Samantha instantly jumps on the idea, informing Camille that Neal is a magician and that he's _so much fun_.

Alex leaves him with a lingering look, but she does leave, which he counts as something akin to a blessing on her part.

"Pineapple pie?" Samantha offers, because she too has been raised correctly; if nothing else, to act accordingly in her grandmother's home when guests are over.

Camille immediately shakes her head, and her new friend's face falls a little. Then; in a move Neal recognizes as having been ingrained in her to override instinctual moves such as that, she explains, "Sorry, I'm p'ticularly picky with pies – Mindy's are a hard act to follow."

The polite manner and the smile and the fact she is completely adorable clue him into the fact that she could use this line anywhere and barely cause offense; even though she's effectively telling the person their creation is sub-par in comparison to what she's used to. He smiles, despite himself, lifts his hand to cover his mouth a touch, because this is Alex; really and truly – but it's also him. He can see them both completely in Camille. And damn, did they do good.

"Who's Mindy?" Samantha asks.

"Gruncle's lady-friend," Camille replies, with an impish grin that tells of knowledge of a secret she enjoys being part of.

"Who's _Gruncle?_" the other girl says to that, this time with her face screwed up in confusion as she eyes his daughter.

"He's sort of like my Grampa," the younger answers. "'cos I got to grow up with him, and so did Mommy."

Neal smiles to himself, shaking his head at the simplicity of it: Gruncle – Great-Uncle.

And there's that little smile again, the one that comes accompanied with eyes that sparkle mischief, as she enlightens them to the fact: "'cept he's got a diff'rent name from me, so we got to play tricks on people when we were out. It was _so_ much fun."

There's something a little scary about this blend of him and Alex; maybe Camille just mirrors them both a little too closely at times for him to process that this is actually real. Yet, at least.

Samantha moves on quickly, offering a fruit salad that June's maid prepared earlier and Camille nods, and then she pauses, that smile on her face still present and as influential as ever as she asks the other girl what's in it.

"You're picky with everything, aren't you?" Samantha responds with a sigh, to which the younger just shrugs.

She rattles off a list of the ingredients and when Camille nods her approval, she leaves to retrieve the alternate dessert.

The six-year-old throws him a small apologetic smile and ducks her head as she says, "Sorry."

"Ah," Neal waves her off good-naturedly, knocking her elbow with his to get her to look up as he winks at her. "I like a girl who knows what she likes."

Her tongue peeks out between her teeth as she smiles at him, her eyes practically twinkling in the light; he could spend forever like this, just in her presence.

.

Samantha tells them a joke that she heard at school and it's only now, with Camille's laughter brightening the room and her smile aligning with his vision that Neal feels the slight ache in his cheekbones. He doesn't think he's ever smiled this much. Not that he's really complaining.

He watches her, enraptured, still.

She dips her head, smiles around her spoon as she scoops it into the bowl of fruit in front of her, her attention remaining on her friend. The little crease in her brow hardly mars her features, but it triggers something in him as she lifts a hand and trails her index finger along the inside of her lower lip.

Her frown doesn't deepen; it doesn't have a chance, because all of a sudden everything's changing and she's reacting too fast.

What he's seeing – this metamorphosis – it terrifies him, because he's putting the pieces together too late. This is his child, his little girl, and he should've noticed; he could've stopped it.

Now it's too late.

Camille turns to him, strangled surprise on her features; eyes as wide as saucers, her fear shining like a beacon, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. One hand clutches at her throat and she reaches out to him with the other, fingers scraping like cats' claws against the solid wood. The spoon clatters to the floor and there's a harsh after-ring that seems endless.

"What's wrong with her?" Samantha questions, the legs of her chair scraping against the floor as she stands, like a painful reminder that his daughter's voice has been stolen and this is what is left to fill the void in her absence. These loud, unbearable noises; they bear the punishment of his failure.

"Go and get Alex!" he instructs hastily.

His voice is shaking, like the legs of his daughter, her knees knocking uncontrollably against his shins as he pulls himself closer towards her. Her body scrambles to defend itself against the execution order implemented by the foreign substance, to fight against something that is literally squeezing the life out of her before his very eyes.

It can't end like this; not when he's only just meeting her, not when she's still so young.

It can't end.

He loves her.

It's hardly a revelation, but the words spur something within him. He throws a glance over his shoulder as Samantha scuttles away, shouting, "And call 911!"

He reaches over and pulls Camille's hand from her throat, tears his gaze from the red welts on her skin to look up into those stunning blue eyes of hers that are frozen in panic.

He interlocks their fingers and promises, "It's going to be ok. You're going to be alright."

He wills her to believe it, because he does; he has to. There is no other option.

The metal of her bracelet is cool against his skin, swinging back and forth with the momentum of her struggle. He doesn't look at it; he can't.

He's supposed to be observant, he's supposed to be brilliant; the signs were all there, and this is his daughter – he should have been able to put the pieces together.

"Camille," he says. "Look at me."

_I'm sorry_.

The words are repeated over-and-over in his mind, the true reminder of his sins, his crimes: she is suffering because of him.

"You're going to be alright," he repeats aloud instead.

Alex was right to keep her away from him.

And when she enters the room Neal can finally breathe again, because so can their daughter.

She thrusts the EpiPen into their daughter's thigh and everything seems to slow, a fact he is so _so _grateful for; because he can see his little girl's chest moving up and down in a steadier rhythm now, can see the calm that passes over her as her mother takes her in her arms.

"Momma," Camille breathes out; like it's the answer she was searching for all along, the only thing she's ever needed to exist.

He wonders if that will always be his penance.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think – it really does mean a lot :)  
Steph  
xxx


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five 

.

"_It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change."  
__**Clarence Darrow**_

.

Samantha is in tears as Camille is loaded onto the stretcher, with June doing her best to comfort her.

"If anything, it's my fault, Samantha," he tries to placate the girl. "I didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. You have nothing to be sorry about."

"But I didn't know she was allergic – she never said," Samantha returns. "I wouldn't have given her the other dessert if I knew – I wouldn't – "

"You can stop with the blame game," Alex's voice reaches them as she moves towards where they stand. "They've got her stabilized, and they're taking her to the hospital to monitor her."

"How are you so composed?" Neal asks, because he is anything but; Hell, she's the only one who's _not _jittery.

"Calm after the storm. Practice." She shrugs. "It heightens your instincts, your reactions – makes it easier to deal with afterwards."

She locks eyes with him, and he notes the change that seems to have taken place between them in that moment.

"I'm only calm because I have to be," Alex confides in him then, and she casts a glance over to where Camille is being treated, Elizabeth by her side with a reassuring smile. "When she's back from the hospital and I've kept an eye on her till daybreak and she's still ok, then I can crash."

"Alex – " he starts, and then he stops and his gaze falls to the floor, because what can he possibly say? Their – no, _her_ daughter nearly died.

_She was right to keep her away from him_, the voice in his head reminds him.

"This wasn't your fault, Caffrey, you didn't know," Alex responds, and he's frowning now, because why isn't she blaming him? _He _is blaming him, so why isn't she?

"But I _should've_ realized!" he answers; furious with himself, yet apparently the only one who is so. "She doesn't like pineapple pie, she asks what fruit is in the salad; she's wearing a medical bracelet for God's sake! I should've corrected Samantha when she forgot to mention the maid uses pineapple juice in the salad, I should've said, I – "

"Look, we manage it well, but this is a new environment and I'm her mother and I should've been making sure she was safe," she informs him matter-of-factly, putting an end to his tirade of self-mutilation.

"Alex – " Neal tries to refute the point, but she interrupts him again.

"We don't tell people she's allergic because if anyone found out, given my _standing _in certain communities, they could use it to deliberately harm her," she tells him, and then it's almost like she can't help the slight roll of the eyes and the shake of the head as she adds, "And she's also just a picky eater, so it's usually quite easy to control what she does and doesn't eat."

His eyes flit over to the girl in question. She seems stable enough, but the presence of the medical personnel around her and the memories of what transpired mere minutes prior attest to the fact that she is really anything but. He just wishes the learning curve hadn't been so steep and could've stayed in the confines of simple dinner conversation.

"But you are her father," Alex reaffirms then, and she nods as if to impress the importance of what this actually means to both of them.

Her hand on his cheek is soothing, though the ache he feels is in his chest now.

"You need to know these things, so you can to keep her safe too."

The silence that follows immediately after is held back by the combined chatter of Peter, Elizabeth and June speaking with the paramedics and the tiny breakthrough of two little girls conversing.

"I hope you're not in too long," he hears Samantha say. "Hospitals suck."

"It's ok, my Mommy'll keep me company," Camille tells her simply, and when Neal looks over there's a twinkle in her eye as she adds, "But maybe I can come back and visit an' we can have food that doesn't want to kill me."

Samantha visibly stiffens and Neal can't help but do the same, but Camille's giggle, though tired, and the way Alex rolls her eyes seem to have a calming effect on both of them.

He nods, swallows hard, and turns his attention back to Alex, "Will you let me know how she's doing? When she's getting out?"

He'd go with them in a heartbeat, but he knows that would only cause confusion. And the last thing he wants to do right now is cause his daughter anymore upset.

Alex nods, and then she leans forward and presses her mouth softly against his.

When she pulls away he opens his eyes, and he can see the length of a tear marked-path lining her skin to the point where he took the bitterness away; he can still taste the salt on his lips.

"Thank you."

.

"Why didn't you go with them? There was space in the back," Peter asks him as they watch the ambulance pull away.

"Camille nearly _died_, Peter," Neal shakes his head. "The last thing she needs right now is some guy she's just met tagging along to the hospital when all she wants is her mother."

"Hey!" Peter calls out to him, catching him by the arm as he tries to walk away. "Hey, look at me, Neal!"

With both of Peter's hands flat against the lapels of his blazer, he feels his partner gives him a small pat to grab his attention.

"You are not just _some guy_, Neal," his partner tells him, the intensity of his words bearing down on Neal as strongly as the look directed at him; there's a pleading aspect to the moment as Peter wills him to really listen to his words. "You're her father."

"You don't think I know that?" he finds himself near-screaming in response. "You don't think I _want _to be at the hospital with her? Making sure she's ok, holding her hand as they do _whatever_ it is they're going to do to her?"

He's breathing hard now, and he's suddenly acutely aware that they're not alone, but he just cannot bring himself to care right now.

"She nearly died, Peter," he says. "And I couldn't do a damn thing about it – I still can't. And what if – ?"

"What if what, Neal?" Peter prompts calmly.

He takes a breath and looks up at his partner, but he can feel himself crumbling; his voice is the first thing to falter.

"I only just met her, and I nearly lost her. What if I'd never known about her? What if this had happened last week, only Alex hadn't gotten there in time?"

His legs give out, and as always, his partner is there to catch him as he falls. He wants to be there for his daughter like that. Be her safety net, the one to take away her pain – he wants to be her father.

"I can't lose her, Peter," he cries out; because he doesn't think he can bare it any other way. It is a desperate plea. "I love her."

And he does. He loves her. Without a doubt, more than he's ever loved or will love anything or anyone in the world. He loves her.

How is he supposed to live if he doesn't have that anymore?

How does anyone?

.

When he goes back inside, June has taken Samantha up to the spare room to put her to bed and Elizabeth, unable to stand by and allow June's housekeeper to do it, has already cleaned up the vomit his daughter spat up all over his landlady's expensive flooring. The assurances that this was a good thing, that it got the pineapple out of her system, which was the cause of her problems to begin with, did little to quell the images of his sick daughter from his mind.

"Thank you Elizabeth," he says sincerely, receiving her warm embrace. "Really."

She pulls away slightly, frowning as she looks at him. "Are you sure you're going to be ok, Neal? Peter can stay with you if you want? Or you can come back with us?"

He waves her off with a good-natured smile.

"Well, if you need anything – or if Alex does – you make sure you call us, ok?" Elizabeth tells him; her uncertain tone informs him that she knows all is not well, but she won't push it, for the moment. She does, however, continue to watch him until he nods his agreement.

Peter slaps him on the shoulder and gives him a small smile, reiterating his wife's offer, "You know where we are."

He nods, and holds the door open for them as they leave, thanking them again.

Sometimes he wonders if it's all real, this life he's living: the home he's created for himself, the friends he's made; people he can count on, a stable roof over his head.

And then the glorious image of his daughter's smiling face appears in the forefront of his mind and it's instantaneous, he can't help it, he grins like a Cheshire cat.

Because when he thinks of it all as reality, as truly belonging to him, he can't help but ask how he ever got to be so lucky.

.

June comes up with some tea and reassures him that everything will work out.

"I can't hide my surprise that Alex has a child," she remarks with a warm smile. "But it suits her. She's wonderful with that little girl."

Neal nods, because he can't help but agree. It's still strange, to think of Alex as a mother; but then, he's still trying to wrap his head around the idea that he's a father.

"And I've no doubt her father will do a wonderful job raising her as well," June adds.

His head snaps up and he sees the knowing look on her face. He ducks slightly, his lips twisting upwards as he lifts his eyes to meet hers. "That obvious?"

Her smile rises on her face and she places an affectionate hand on his cheek as she tells him, "Neal, darling, that girl takes after her father in _so_ many ways. You might not have been around the past six years, but your influence is there. You'd be blind not to see the resemblance."

"I think it drives Alex mad," he divulges with a devilish grin.

June laughs. "I bet it does," she agrees. "Alex has fire, I've seen her storm out of here enough times."

He has the grace to look mildly apologetic on that front.

"I think certain things Camille does push her buttons; a characteristic I'd wager can be attributed to you," she remarks, and sends him a pointed look.

"Alex should be grateful," he replies, and the grin on his face can only be described as roguish. "Keeps her on her toes."

She lets out another chuckle and pats his chests. "Oh, Neal," she says. "You really are one in a million."

"But now I've passed on these genius traits of mine to the next generation," he ponders aloud as she reaches the door, his arms outstretched as if eager for answers. "What's to become of me?"

"Lord help us," June turns to tease in reply, and she winks at him as she closes the door behind her, leaving him alone.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think :)  
Steph  
xxx


	6. Chapter 6

Late, but hope you enjoy anyway :)  
Also, while I hope my gratitude comes across in my review replies, I'd like to thank everyone who reads/reviews/favourites/alerts - your interest means alot to me!

* * *

Chapter Six

.

_"Maybe I would disappear without you__  
__Or maybe I would fall into the sky__  
__But I'm in Heaven orbiting around you__  
__And your pretty eyes__."  
_**_'Pretty Eyes', Jason Reeves_**

.

He can't sleep, so naturally he takes to the arts; and since his mind has barely deviated from his daughter since he first learned of her existence, it's fairly obvious what his subject matter is going to be.

When he's finished, satisfied; for the most part, at least, he packs up his things and puts them all back in their strategically ordered areas.

He suddenly fully realizes why so many artists are their worst critics; it's different with his reproductions than these original pieces, because when the love you feel for someone is so strong, and so pure, and so _real_; how can anything artificial even begin to compare?

His phone goes off as he's setting the picture against the wooden base of his drawer: it's from Alex, and it comes with an attachment.

It's a photo of Camille sleeping in what he presumes to be Alex's king-sized hotel bed, her _headpiece_ back in place, and a small white origami bunny rabbit sitting on the side table next to her.

_A trick to keep her alert – I was told my magician friend would appreciate this particular effort._

_See you tomorrow._

The bed drowns her, and the bunny ears dwarf her little face, and he's struck by just how tiny she really is. She's not so big, he reasons, he still has time.

He wonders how things would've turned out had he known about her from the beginning; if he'd still gone to prison for nearly four years. He hates that he's missed out on so much of her life, but as he looks down at the image Alex gifted him with and pairs it with his own interpretation; he thinks that maybe the timing just wasn't right. He has no doubt they could've made it work, he didn't earn his reputation for brilliance over nothing, after all, but she's healthy – for the most part – and happy, and she certainly _seems _well adjusted.

He stares at the painting by his own hand, his own imitation of the real thing. It depicts his daughter as he first saw her: standing in the park in a dirty green and gray dress, hands outstretched as she channeled the power bestowed upon her by the almighty feather headdress weighing down her light brown curls. On the opposite side of the canvas is the six-year-old at the dinner table, just before she removed her bunny ears, before – well, _before_ – with a big smile on her face and a visible twinkle in her eye. And just underneath both images, there is a tiny hand on a wooden table, reaching out to another.

He takes a deep breath and then stows the painting in his drawer and turns off the light.

.

He goes over to the hotel with a bunch of origami flowers hidden behind his back and a magician's hat twirling on the tips of his fingers.

"Neal," Alex nods in acknowledgement as she opens the door, and then she catches sight of the items in his hands. "And you come bearing gifts, sneaky."

"Flowers for the patient," he tells her, and with a grin adds, "You can have one if you want, Alex."

"I think I'll pass," she replies and then leads him into the lounge area that opens up to the bedroom.

Camille is lying in the middle of the enormous bed when he enters, and she shouts his name as she sees him, pushing back the covers and scrambling to the end of the bed as he nears, gifting him with a big toothy smile.

He'd rather she was running around like the day before, but in all honestly it's a relief to see her in such good spirits at all.

"I heard you were stuck on bed-rest so I thought I'd come and showcase some of my new magic tricks," he tells her.

If possible, her smile lifts even further on her cheeks.

"And after the message I got last night – I thought you might be trying to upstage me," he says, and squints his eyes at her, which just makes her giggle. "So I thought it only best that I show you who the master is."

At that he produces the colorful paper bouquet and revels in the look of sheer delight that overcomes her features as she takes the ribbon tied stalks and stares at the flowers he's made for her, almost transfixed by their beauty. He knows that feeling.

She _awws_ and _ahhs_ over them for several minutes; mesmerized by one of the daisies she's spinning round and round with the tip of her little finger, as she all but demands he teach her how create them for herself because _even Mommy doesn't make ones like these – wow!_

When her mother returns with a vase to display the stunning arrangement and places it on the side table, he just stares at the little six-year-old. It's still sinking in that he was a part of this, that he made this. She's too… she's a masterpiece, there's no other word for it, and he can't completely fathom that she's his. It's exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

Alex walks around him, trails her hand across his shoulder because she knows what he's thinking and she knows the touch will bring him back to reality. No one could deny they've always been perceptive.

"Come on you," she prompts their daughter, lying down on the bed and patting the place next to her. "There's a reason you're still in your pj's."

Camille plucks at the neckline on her cotton top, fiddling with the trio of buttons that detail the section, and then flips her gaze back up to look at him as she asks, "You like them? I bought them with my own money before we came here – ain't they pretty?"

She jumps up then; holds a hand up in the air, her arm at a right angle, while pointing her toes to the side, her other on her hip and her eyebrows raised as she awaits his appraisal. She sways a touch as she stands before him, attempting to balance on the uneven surface, and he catches sight of the large bruise on her upper arm and the slice on her leg and he frowns. It's still red and angry looking, falling just below her knee where the wavy embroidered section of her matching white pajama bottoms cut across her shin.

"They're very pretty," Neal agrees after a moment, with a laugh at her antics. "You have good taste."

"You look like a teapot," Alex tells her teasingly and then tugs on the back of her top so she topples down onto the mattress in a fit of giggles.

Camille grins at him, and then swings her little tanned legs around as her mother holds up the blankets for her to slide under. She shimmies around as he takes a seat at the end of the mattress, adjusting his jacket and getting himself sorted.

"Now, I'm warning you, I haven't had much time to practice these," he informs her, and then leans forward and dramatically stage-whispers, "But you're the perfect candidate – you can't run away."

She giggles and snuggles into her mother's side, her cuddly toy squished in between.

By the time he's gone through every trick he knows, more than once, Camille's eyes are drooping and Alex has gone to order them room service.

"What's your toy called?" he asks his daughter; he saw her retrieve it from her mother's bag at the park, and she had it tucked in the crook of her arm when she was loaded into the back of the ambulance at June's, and he's always been part slave to his curiosity.

"Casper," she replies, with a yawn that she quickly covers beneath her small hand. "He's a chameleon, but he likes to dis'ppear a lot, s'why I named him that. He's sneaky."

"Apparently he's not the only one," Neal murmurs to himself.

"Gruncle says my Daddy was like that, sneak-sneak-sneak," Camille sleepily singsongs. "But I'm Chameleon 'cos I can be anyone I wanna be."

"Is that right?" he inquires quietly.

She nods in the slightest of movements. "It's fun. I get to dress up," she tells him.

"That is fun," he agrees.

There's a lopsided smile on her face as she nuzzles into the pillow. The reptilian cuddly toy she adores so much is hooked tightly under her arm, as her fingers remain wrapped round the material on the collar of his blazer. He'd draped it over her earlier when she complained of a chill while Alex had gone and turned the AC off. She told him he was soft, playfully chastising him for giving into all her demands; but even she couldn't help but smile when she caught sight of their little girl snuggled under her father's oversized coat.

"Can I tell you a secret, Mr. Neal?" Camille asks then, large inquisitive eyes blinking at him from a face half-hidden by oversized bedding and a smattering of haphazard brown and blonde curls.

This makes him somewhat apprehensive; moments like this though, they remind him that he isn't conning his daughter. Not really. He'd be prepared for nearly anything in a con, be able to adapt at a moment's notice; his Intel and the background checks would be firmly implanted in his brain, accessible at any second so as to alter the path, change the plan. With Camille, there is no plan. He feels like he's constantly in the dark; she flickers the torch every once in a while and leads him wherever they're going; it's sort of refreshing actually. Still, while he's excited at the prospect of them sharing something, his mind is not actually that of a child, despite certain comments his partner makes that would suggest as such; her idea of a secret could be far outwith the parameters of his own.

"Of course," Neal replies easily, a heartwarming smile on his face.

"Sometimes I don't want to be anyone else," his daughter reveals in a small voice. "Because if I'm someone else, how will my Daddy ever find me?"

He wonders if whoever first said that their heart was literally in their mouth had experienced something akin to what he's going through just now.

He never realized before just how easy it is to do damage without even meaning to; to be the hole in someone's heart when you didn't even know you'd been the one to steal that piece in the first place.

He wants to tell her: _Sweetheart, he's right here_.

Tell her: _If he'd known where you were (__**who**__ you were) he'd have gone to the ends of the earth to find you._

Tell her: _He's sorry he never knew; he's sorry he wasn't there for you._

Tell her: _Daddy loves you, Camille._

But when his mind finally starts cooperating with his mouth, she's breathing evenly, sleeping soundly beneath the warmth of his coat.

For now, that will have to do.

But he has the chance to make her whole, to fill that gap in her life that she seeks; he can't take that lightly. This is his daughter, he's caused her enough damage with his absence; the least he can do is try make up for it with his presence.

He leans over and kisses her hairline, whispers a goodnight and then turns and walks out the room.

.

TBC…

* * *

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think.  
Steph  
xxx


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: WARNING: there's a part near the end that's **maybe** a touch more than pg-13, although it's likely pg-13 appropriate as it's nothing major, but this is your warning that it's there, because I like to err on the side of caution lol

Hope you enjoy…

* * *

Chapter Seven

.

"_Begin, be not afraid.  
Fall in, the day is brave.  
Remember what has happened in our past,  
So much is happening right now.  
So much can come,  
So much will come."__  
__**'**__**Begin', Brendan James**_

.

"Thank you," Alex says to him as she enters the living space, after closing the bedroom doors behind her.

He turns at her words, and watches as she walks around the sofa to take a seat next to him.

"I know this can't be easy for you, especially given what happened," she meets his eyes completely. "That wasn't exactly on the agenda."

He ducks his head, manages a smile, and then looks up as he says, "I didn't imagine it would be."

Alex smiles softly, ducking her head, and he walks across the short distance to sit next to her on the sofa.

"I saw the cut on her leg – and the bruises on her arm," he says, still unsure what to make of them.

She fits him with a look then, eyebrows raised. "Going to call child services on me, Caffrey?" she questions coolly, unimpressed with the accusation in his words.

"What?" he asks, holding up his hands in defense. "No, Alex, God. I just want to know what happened, that's all."

She pauses, licks her lips, and after a moment shrugs. "She fell out a tree," she says after a deep sigh, and rolls her eyes, throwing her gaze off to the side. "Last time she broke her arm, this time it was just a couple of cuts and scrapes."

His eyes widen, and she must've been watching him out the corner of her eye because she turns back to face him.

"She's accident-prone, Neal," she tells him, as if it wasn't obvious. "It happens. And like with everything else that happens in her life, she bounces back, we move on."

"I was just wondering," he explains halfheartedly.

"Well, now you know," she answers, the bite still somewhat present in her tone.

A couple of minutes pass and then Neal breaks the silence with a laugh and the words, "She fell out of a tree, huh?"

Alex lifts her head to meet his eyes and joins in his laughter. "Oh, yeah. It's happened a few times, actually; maybe I should invest in some climbing lessons."

"Maybe," he agrees. "Throw in some tightrope lessons too, in case it's just her balance that's the issue, you know?"

"That's a good idea," she replies seriously, although she laughs immediately after, and there's slight amazement in her tone as she continues, "She's toppled off the top of a slide once, never even made it down. Right over the side, dislocated her elbow, broke some bones."

"So, she's accident-prone," he repeats her earlier words, with a nod of understanding. "We'll wrap her in bubble wrap before the lessons."

A smile curves her lips as she shakes her head at Camille's clumsiness, before she sobers a touch and divulges, "You know, that was probably the worst one. One of her bones broke through the skin, and there was blood everywhere, and her arm was bent at an angle. It wasn't pretty."

His expression grows somber as hers does, at the image this conjures.

"She was scared shitless," Alex says as she exhales. "Hell, _I _was scared shitless. It wasn't like the debacle of our first music box adventure. She was crying, and she was _so _pale and she looked to be in so much pain and – "

She seems to catch sight of his face then, and she reaches over to place her hands on top of his.

"You didn't need to know all that," she notes then. "I shouldn't have told you. It was bad enough at the time, nevermind if you're just left to imagine it. You don't need to know everything."

"No, hey, Alex," he addresses, until she's meeting his eyes once more. "I asked. I _want_ to know everything. I need to know."

After a few minutes pass in which they're both silent, she clears her throat to draw his attention back to her and breaks the tension with a grin he's grown accustomed to seeing displayed on her face, one he sincerely misses when she drops off the radar after stopping by for a visit.

"Whad'you think Mozzie's gonna say when he finds out?" she asks, her playful side on top once more, as she slaps her hands excitedly against his.

Her eyes are practically sparkling and she looks so damn beautiful, all coy and mischievous and just _Alex_, he doesn't think he could tear his gaze away if he tried.

He tilts his head to survey her and his lips lift high on his cheeks.

And then she laughs, loud and carefree, and he shakes his head at her as his own chuckle provides the backing vocals to her amusement.

"He'll probably be more annoyed he was kept out the loop," Neal remarks with a wry smile. "That he's never even suspected you of having a child."

Alex just shrugs. "Well, he wasn't the only one in the dark."

Neal nods, because her words sting, even though he knows she never intended them to. "No, he was not," he agrees, and each word is perfectly annunciated on his tongue; there's a bitter aftertaste that he doesn't relish in the slightest.

Silence surrounds them once more, though this is weighted with something different.

"You hungry?" her voice cuts through the strained quiet that holds the air in limbo.

She removes her hands from his for the first time and holds out the plate for him to take, which he does, but all he can do stare at the food that lies there.

"Eat, Neal," she instructs, and he twists his neck round to look at her. She lifts one shoulder in a casual motion. "I prefer you at full cognitive capacity when I converse with you."

He takes the utensils she then offers and starts to eat the food she ordered for them. It's delicious, of course, given the hotel they're currently residing in and the fact Alex has a wonderful ability to retain details. She might not have Mozzie's perfect recall, but she knows what Neal likes, and that will always hold her in good stead.

"I wasn't there the first time it happened, you know," Alex speaks after a few minutes.

He turns to her and he frowns, questioning.

She swallows. "When she had her first reaction," she clarifies. "I wasn't even in the country."

She shakes her head, and her words are completely sobering; they almost lift the burden he still feels for his complete inability to do anything when Camille went into anaphylactic shock at dinner the previous night.

"It took me a long time to come to terms with that," she reveals, and her eyes flicker up to meet his briefly, before she takes another bite of her food; a distraction, even now, he notes, from the true implications of what their daughter's allergy means.

She clears her throat, sets her silverware down her, and lifts her head to face him completely.

"What I'm saying, Neal, is that I know how you feel," she tells him, and he takes the olive branch she's offering, putting his plate down on the table and turning to look at her, to listen wholeheartedly. "It doesn't go away, the fear, the _what if_ – it just gets easier to manage your own emotions as you learn to manage her health."

"So, what you're really saying is that I'll get there, eventually," he responds.

The corners of her lips twist into a smile. "Give it time," she suggests. "You'll be better than you think."

"At being her father?" Neal replies, and his voice piques at the end, though he's unsure if he's asking her a question or making a statement.

"Yes," Alex tells him, and her whole face lifts as her smile does. "At being her father."

He nods slowly, because he understands what she's saying, what she's trying to do, and he appreciates it.

It's partly the reason he thinks he initiates it: leaning forward and cupping her cheek in his hand as he presses his lips roughly against her own. A compelling argument at any time, he's suddenly overcome with the strong desire to kiss her, to be near her, to feel her.

She responds just as intensely, deepening the kiss, and pulling herself flush against him when his other hand tugs at her waist. She pulls him with her as she falls back against the throw pillows arranged on the sofa, their mouths fused together, their limbs tangling together even further. His hands are everywhere at once, with hers following suit, as if they're both struck by a rush to recommit everything to memory.

The heels of her palms push against the ridges on his stomach as he hovers just above her, his shirt lifting with the action. He rises to pull his polo up over his head and there's a wide smile on her face at the sight of his defined abs. He grins at her open display of appreciation for his body and swoops down to capture her lips once more, his hand pushing under her own top then as hers skirt across his spine. He feels her breath hitch beneath his palm and his smile stays cockily in place as his lips press firmly against hers, her tongue sending that brilliant tingling sensation through him. He captures the rumble of her laughter in his mouth as her fingers run over the goosebumps that are now sprinkled over his skin. He skates the pad of his thumb across the thin material of her bra and she moans into him. She gets her own back by capturing his lower lip between her teeth and then arching herself up into him until he groans at the sensation. Satisfied, she kisses him full on the mouth, and he loops his arm underneath her to draw her nearer.

He trails kisses across her jaw and he's concentrating on that spot by her collarbone that he knows she loves when he knocks against the table and the clatter that results from the unbalanced crockery cuts through the air.

He pulls back suddenly, panting, tearing his gaze away as he begins to realize what he started.

"I can't," he breathes out, shaking his head as he drops it against his chest. He curses, runs his hands over his face as he drags in another breath, and then curses some more.

"It's fine, Neal, really," she assures him, sitting up with a sigh and beginning to right her clothes.

"No, it's not," he contests, looking over at her as she attempts to tame her disheveled appearance, and then staring at the opposite wall once more and repeating within a deep sigh, "No, it's not."

"We never seem to be able to quite get the right moment nowadays, do we?" she comments with a slight shake of the head and a click of the tongue. She plucks the glass from the ring of spilled wine that marks its place on the table and tips it forward in a mock toast as she remarks, "Welcome to parenthood."

She downs its contents and inclines her head towards him with a wry smile.

"Maybe another time, Neal," she says with a whisper of tired regret, patting his thigh as she stands and walks around the sofa to enter the bedroom. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"Yeah," he agrees quietly; to the former, to the latter, to both; her words are busy spinning in his head.

_Welcome to parenthood_.

He inwardly curses; he shouldn't have done that.

He stumbles out the door, his mind reeling.

This complicates matters.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

A/N: next chapter has Mozzie – just to mix things up a bit ;)

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think!  
Steph  
xxx


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

.

"_Secrets are made to be found out with time."  
**Charles Sanford**_

.

When they enter his apartment, he immediately notices Mozzie's sleeping form on his couch. Go figure. Assuming the man will remain like that for a while, he lets Camille explore the space while he makes quick work of offering Alex a drink.

He's fixes them some glasses while she eyes the bottles in his collection for one that appeals to her, clearly hoping to find something to her fancy that's managed to escape Mozzie's thieving hands.

"Who're you?" he hears Camille's innocent inquiry and looks across to see his six-year-old standing over his friend's dozing form.

Then he hears Mozzie scream.

"Ahh! Small person!" is the immediate exclamation, Mozzie's eyes wide as he snapshots Camille's presence, before the shock has him falling off the couch and onto the floor.

Neal bursts out laughing, and Alex lifts her head to see what has him in such hysterics.

"You alright there, Mozzie?" she asks loudly, tone colored with amusement, as she glances over at him before continuing to calmly peruse Neal's wine collection.

"Momma!" Camille calls out and sprints the few feet across the room to come to a stop before them, her pink sandals pitter-pattering across his floor.

Mozzie is close behind and when they turn to their daughter, Neal sees the transitioning emotions on his friend's face.

His eyes are wide again as he opens his mouth, and Neal just _knows _what's coming.

"You – she – "

Neal's hand is at his throat trying to signal to the other to cut it out, to just _stop_, and eventually his friend does.

"You're silly," Camille proclaims and she beams up at Mozzie; Neal's eyes flicker across to the mirror on the wall and he can see it too. She has his smile.

Her eyes are his; the color and shape, although the expressions he sees in them are a definite reflection of her mother. Ok, so maybe there's a hint of his influence in the more mischievous aspects she tends to display; but she has his smile, a point he's transfixed on. Her lips are like her mother's, but her smile; her smile she stole from him.

Standing before them now, he doesn't think it's ever been more obvious.

She's theirs.

Mozzie nods, throws her a wary smile, still eyeing her closely.

"Neal? A moment?" his friend prompts.

Then he all but drags Neal away from the two females and out onto the patio.

.

"That – small person - that _child_ in there?" Mozzie says as soon as they're outside, and he's using his half-whisper voice, even though he's gesturing at the two females in the next room quite obviously with his hands. "She's yours, isn't she? You and Alex, you've imposed your offspring on the world, haven't you?"

He deliberates for a moment, and then relents and gives a half nod as he says simply, "Yes."

"Great, that's just great," Mozzie responds, throwing his hands up in the air in obvious frustration. "It's not enough that I have to keep an eye on you as you run around the city with all your harebrained schemes, now I have your progeny to contend with too. That's great, Neal, really, just wonderful. Anything else you want to spring on me, or is that the lot? Is illegitimate child, in the truest sense of the word I might add, is that all you've got to share with me?"

"Would you stop pointing at her?" Neal says at that, and grabs his friend's arm to lower it. "She doesn't know, ok?"

"That you're her parents?" is the immediate response. "Oh God, you didn't kidnap her, did you? What did you tell her? That you'll take her to Disneyland? Is that why she's being so amenable? Kids love Disneyland…"

"What? No," Neal replies, giving Mozzie a look. "Besides, everyone knows the kids are all about Disney_world_. It's got all the different kingdoms and – "

"Are you trying to bring up my own childhood trauma right now?" Mozzie asks, unimpressed. "Is that what this is? 'cos let me tell you, pal – "

"Moz, just stop, ok?" he asks of his friend, and there's a pleading edge to his voice. "Alex brought her here, I only met her two days ago. She doesn't know who I am."

"But she knows who Alex is, which means – "

"That Alex kept her from me, yes," Neal answers succinctly.

"And you're… ok with that?" Mozzie asks, squinting at him as he tries to gauge his reaction.

"Well, no, but she had her reasons and – Look, the other night they came over for dinner and Camille had an allergic reaction to the pineapple in her dessert. She went into anaphylactic shock, Moz," he tells his friend, and he knows he'll understand. "She nearly died, and I – "

"I get it, you want to be there for her now," Mozzie says; though he can't help his usual sarcastic tone as he adds, "How noble."

"Right, so just – go along with it, ok? Alex doesn't want to rush Camille into it, so we're going to spend some time together and then we'll tell her who I really am," Neal informs him, watching him closely; it's not that he doesn't trust him _per se_, it's just that Moz has a habit of doing things he thinks are in Neal's best interests. Naturally there is sometimes a difference of opinion on those sorts of matters.

"So you're going to con your own daughter?" Mozzie comments at that. "Nice."

"It's not like that – it's – look, just promise me you won't say anything, ok?" he implores of his friend, because if Moz does this for him, he can handle anything else.

"What do you take me for?" is the response; clearly affronted. "I suppose you think I'm going to say 'there's no such thing as Santa Claus' too?"

His disgruntled friend doesn't let him get a word in as he continues on.

The tone of Mozzie's voice changes in accordance with what he says next, "Now run along and play with your father's stolen artifacts, but don't worry, he was never actually imprisoned for taking those – just the bonds. Oh, and the Easter Bunny's a figment of your childhood imagination too, so – "

"Actually she's really into bunnies, so if you could just leave that one – " Neal interrupts, both tone and expression hopeful, hand held up to pierce the air.

Mozzie shoots him a look.

"Right, right," he mutters, dropping his head.

"Just because I think your imagination could do with a little limiting, doesn't mean I'm going to subject the kid to it – there'll be plenty of time for that when she's growing up," his friend tells him, and the annoyance he's clearly feeling lingers in his voice.

Neal smiles at this: that wasn't so difficult.

"How old is she anyway?" Mozzie queries, arms now crossed over his chest, and his gaze thrown to the side in a deliberate display of nonchalance, though Neal knows better.

"Six," he answers easily.

"So she was born right around the time that you and Kate – " a nod, " – and the Feds – " another nod, "so Alex bailed with one in the oven."

"That about covers it, yeah," he remarks offhandedly, nodding for a third time.

"Hmm, I always did say Alex was a smart girl," Mozzie muses in return.

"Moz," Neal simply responds, almost imploring him with just the use of his name not to go there.

"Fine, fine, I suppose we should get back in there anyway," Mozzie relents and turns to move towards the door with Neal hot on his heels, which makes him turn back and comment, with a half-exasperated sigh, "You've been itching to get back to her since I dragged you away haven't you?"

He shrugs halfheartedly. "Little bit."

Mozzie shakes his head. "She has got you wrapped around her little finger, my friend. Who knows what she'll do with that kind of power? You are doomed! Doomed, I tell you!"

Alex and Camille look up from whatever it is they're doing at the table as he and Mozzie enter and the six-year-old beams at him on sight.

Neal can't help but crack a smile; he figures there are worse things to go to Hell for than the love of your child. If anything, he assumes she'll get him a free pass.

"So, who's going to tell Sara?" Mozzie ponders then, deliberately loudly in the small space that holds the group together.

Neal looks over at his friend; lounging on the sofa once again, this time with a glass of wine held up to the light as he twirls it between his fingers; the picture of ease.

And then he hears his daughter ask, "Who's Sara?"

He resists the urge to launch himself across the space and throttle his best friend. It's a strong urge.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

A/N: So, basically I've included Sara because I have this thing where no matter how far-fetched my story is, I reckon as long as it _seems_ in character and canon-friendly, it could happen on the show. Yeah, delusional is how I roll ;) Therefore, I'm following the show storyline and using it for a bit here.

If you don't like Sara, or the pairing of her and Neal, sorry – she won't appear for a good few chapters yet, but this story is mainly focused on Neal (despite the prominent involvement of some other characters), and that's a part of his storyline in the show right now. Also, I think it's fairly obvious I ship Neal with Alex, so while I won't bash Sara or anything like that, I'm not planning on dwelling too much on her involvement. (She may not be my favourite character, and I might not ship her with Neal, but I don't exactly hate her/want to start assassinating her character in my fic). Just a heads up :)

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think.  
Steph  
xxx


	9. Chapter 9

Hope you enjoy…

* * *

Previously

"So, who's going to tell Sara?" Mozzie ponders then, deliberately loudly.

Neal looks over at his friend; lounging on the sofa, glass of wine held up to the light as he twirls it between his fingers; the picture of ease.

And then he hears his daughter ask, "Who's Sara?"

He resists the urge to launch himself across the space and throttle his best friend. It's a strong urge.

.

Chapter Nine

.

"_The secret of having a personal life, is not answering too many questions about it."  
**Joan Collins**_

.

"Sara is… " Neal starts, unsure of how exactly to explain it; explain what he has with the woman, nevermind taking into account who exactly his audience is.

"Oh, this ought to be good," Mozzie chimes in from his place lounging on the couch, making a point to shuffle against the cushions to make himself more comfortable for what is about to come.

Neal shoots him a look.

"She's a _friend_ of mine," he tells Camille, and he can feel Alex's eyes on him with his emphasis on that particular word; he wonders if she thinks he's just doing it to get back at her for the park. He's not. Well… not _completely_.

"Is she a _special friend_?" his daughter inquires then, a little smirk on her face.

"Cami, stop prying," Alex breaks in then. "Neal has been good enough to invite us into his home, there's no need to subject him to your incessant questions as well."

"But he was telling _me_ – " the six-year-old starts to protest.

"No buts," her mother cuts her off, and simply gives her a look that seems to tell her she's not falling for it, as Camille pouts up at her in response. "Not _everyone_ has to do as you say, you know."

"Well…" their daughter says at that, drawing out the words and rolling her head to look from her mother to Neal, for whom she plants an innocent expression on her face, complete with glowing smile. "Unless they _want_ to, of course."

Mozzie's laughter echoes off the walls, and his friend lifts his glass in a toast to his little girl. "Oh, she's good."

Camille remains undeterred by this attempt to catch her out, instead turning on the charm two-fold with a bat of the eyelashes and a shuffle closer to Neal.

He shakes his head at her. "Sara is a _special friend_, yes," he confirms.

Alex remains silent, although when he finally meets her eyes over their daughter's head, there's a small smile on her face. He's not sure if it's because she's known all along and she's possibly ok with it; she did give him her blessing when they last saw one another, after all, well, in a round about way; or if her happiness is just ruled by everything her daughter does and that alone.

"But you're my friend too," he says. "And you're very special to me... in a different way."

The meaning is lost on his daughter, though he sees Alex catch it, as Camille steps towards him then and puts both her hands on his shoulders.

"No offense, Mr. Neal," she says very seriously. "But you are _way_ too old for me."

Mozzie's not the only one who finds it amusing this time.

He watches with a fond smile as Camille skips over to her mother, the floral prints on the white skirt of her dress dancing in the air as she flounces across the space. She climbs up onto her mother's lap and snuggles into her chest as Alex drops a kiss to her hair and wraps her up in her laughter.

It pulls at Neal's heart, this open display of affection, and he can only hope that soon their world will open up to include him as well.

.

Camille is sitting at the table doing the puzzles in his newspaper while he chats with Mozzie and Alex, and he unconsciously lifts his legs to settle them on the nearby chair, crossing them at the ankle.

"What's that?" the six-year-old asks, and he follows her gaze to see she's pointing at his anklet.

"That's… " he trails off, unsure how to proceed.

"Cami," Alex addresses her, giving him space to think. "What did I say about boundaries?"

"But – " his daughter starts to protest, and then she drops her head grumbling. "Fine. I'm sorry for _prying_, Mr. Neal."

"No, it's ok," he finds his voice a moment later to reassure her with a smile.

He knows this is Alex's way of giving him the option of explaining it or dismissing it in lieu of her doing it for him. He figures he'll have to take responsibility for things like this sooner or later; he can consider it practice. He can only imagine it'll be worse when Camille actually labels him with a fatherly term and then fits him with those big blue curious eyes.

The corners of Camille's lips lift up into a slight smirk with his assurances. She already enjoys playing her parents off against one another, even if she doesn't quite realize it.

"This," he says, and slips his fingers down the side of the device to tug it away from his leg enough for her to get a better view, "is a sort of tracking anklet."

She opens her mouth, and then snaps it shut, throwing a look across at her mother.

"I got it – " he starts to answer her unspoken question, and then stops suddenly, hesitant as to how he should explain it.

He sees Alex nod at Camille, and notes she looks decidedly amused by his sudden loss for words, as does Mozzie; who is sitting with his arms crossed over his chest and an expression on his face that clearly says _oh, ho-ho, this should be good_. He couldn't look more entertained if he rubbed his hands together in glee.

"I did some things that are quite _frowned upon_ by people in law enforcement," he explains, drawing out the words slowly as his brain attempts to churn out the best combination of words to deal with this situation. "Eventually they found out and sent Peter after me, who caught me and put me in jail for a while."

"How did he catch you?" Camille inquires, gaze fixed on his.

"I… " he looks over her heads at his two friends. Alex tilts her head to the side, with an expression he takes to read _you can't stop now, might as well tell her the rest_. "I came back for a girl. He was smart, he knew I wanted to see her so he set a trap and I walked into it."

His daughter scrunches up her little face, frowning at him. "You're not a very good mouse."

He laughs at that, and Mozzie chimes in, answering for him, "Au contraire, small person. The Suit would say he is simply a more cunning cat."

Camille looks confused so Neal explains with a wave of the hand, "Peter works for the FBI, it's how he dresses, acts; it's Mozzie's pet name for him."

"So did Mr. Peter get you a get-out-of-jail-free card?" she inquires, nodding at the previous snippet of information, the fingers of one of her hands twisting around the gray strap of her dress as she looks at him with vested curiosity.

Neal smiles; can't help it, as the memories come flooding back.

"Sort of. That came later," he tells her with a wink. "Before that, I broke out of prison – "

Camille sighs dramatically. "Let me guess, because of the girl, right?"

He looks up and sees Alex smirking, catches Mozzie inclining his head towards their daughter. _You gotta hand it to her,_ the light amusement on his friend's face reads, _the kid's intuitive._

"Right, because of the girl," he agrees. "Except when I got to the apartment we lived in, she wasn't there and Peter found me, put me back in prison."

"Mr. Peter really does sound like a smart cat, Mr. Mozzie," Camille awards his friend then, swiveling round in her seat to send her words in the right direction.

"Well, let's not give the Suit all the credit," Mozzie replies, amused, and then tilts his head towards Neal in acknowledgement. "Neal did break out of prison, which is no mean feat, and he was blinded by the guiles of the heart when he was caught. Let that be a lesson to you, kid, 'one weakness is enough, and love is the deadliest'."

Silence ensues, as it usually does when Mozzie punctuates his moments of wisdom with a quote he doesn't know the origin of.

"Bertolt Brecht," Mozzie answers to the unaware occupants of the room.

"Mozzie uses quotes to try and impress his points on people," Neal tells his slightly bewildered looking daughter, and then breaks into a grin. "But now we come to the good part."

"How you got out again?" Camille surmises with an excited smile, and then inquires, "Did the girl help you? To pay you back for getting you caught in the first place? Twice!"

It's an innocent enough question, but it still tugs at his insides, because even with this abridged, child-friendly version of the tale, not even his daughter seems at all taken by Kate, not in the slightest.

"I helped Peter solve a case from the confines of my prison cell, and convinced him to let me out and to work with him so now I'm a consultant for the FBI," he tells her, flashing her a dazzling smile; although disappointingly, he notes, when put like that it doesn't seem nearly as impressive as it was when put into action. "I struck up a friendship with June and she let me stay here, and then the government insisted I wear this anklet so they could track my movements because they've restricted me to a two mile radius, unless I'm at work or with Peter."

"So now you're a lawman?" his daughter asks.

"Neal works in shades of gray," Alex replies with a wide smile; he knows she does so enjoy his skirting the line.

"So you're good when Mr. Peter's around," the six-year-old deduces.

His lips twist and he bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from all-out grinning. "For the most part," he agrees.

"Because he's your ball-and-chain," Camille answers laughingly.

"What?" he asks, eyebrows rising as his smile does the same. "That's supposed to be what you call a man's wife when she holds him back from doing what he really wants."

"Yeah, but Miss. 'Lizbeth is really nice, so it's _you_ that causes him trouble and he has to keep you in line," his daughter enlightens him, much to the entertainment of all those surrounding them. "When Halloween comes around we should get you a big ball to put on your ankle jewelry and then write Mr. Peter's name on it in big letters. That would be _so funny_."

She collapses against her mother's side in a fit of giggles and he watches Alex give in to the hilarity of the image as well.

"I'm going to tell Miss. 'Lizbeth about it, I bet she'd help me – we'll plan a surprise party and then film Mr. Peter when he sees it." Camille is practically in hysterics at this point, delightfully exclaiming, "When the cat's away the mice will play!"

"I can already tell you're going to be a handful," Mozzie intones sagely. "But entertaining, nonetheless."

Neal has to give him that; his friend's not normally wrong about these things.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think – it really does mean a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

.

_"If words could make it real_  
_I'd tell you how I feel_  
_Instead I'm waiting here on my knees, love."  
_'_**Tonight', Sugarland**_**  
**

.

"Think all our chatter wore the kid out," Mozzie comments and both Neal and Alex turn to see their daughter curled up asleep on Neal's sofa.

She's got her left thumb in her mouth, Casper the chameleon pressed against her cheek as she hold him tightly in her little hand. Her skirt is fanned out around her with the hood of her pink sweater pulled up over her head, pushing her hair messily around her face. She looks positively adorable.

"I should get her back," Alex says, standing from her place and moving across the room towards where their daughter lies sleeping.

"You could stay," he remarks, and Mozzie barely stifles his cough-slash-signal as Alex turns slowly to face him.

"Smart decisions, Neal," she reminds him. "This wouldn't be one of them."

He drops his head, finger tapping his lips, curved at the edges. "Right."

"Tomorrow?" she proposes and he lifts his eyes to meet hers.

"I have to go into the office tomorrow," he tells her. "But I know Peter wants to talk to you. You could come with."

"That's right, because he's so concerned with my safety," the brunette replies flippantly.

Neal fits her with a look.

Alex rolls her eyes. "Relax, Neal, I know it's all about Cami. One of the few reasons I'd set foot in that place. _Again_."

"Come on," he implores, looking to both of them now. "It's hardly as bad as you make out. I survive it everyday."

"You're in league with them," she replies, her lips twisting into a smirk. "You're biased."

"The lady makes a good point," Mozzie voices his concurrence.

"Ah, but it has its benefits, doesn't it?" Neal reminds them with a wide smile to their resulting begrudging nods of agreement.

"We'll come by in the morning, catch a ride with the man himself," Alex tells him decisively at that, a self-satisfied expression on her face.

"Really?" he questions, his voice piquing a little at his surprise.

"Well, I wouldn't want them to mistake my being there as indication of a walk-in and have them cuff me on sight," she responds, wiggling her eyebrows and smiling at him in that teasing manner she enjoys employing in his presence.

"So Peter's your get-out-of-jail-free card as well?" he says to that.

She shrugs, looking pleased with herself, and pointedly ignoring his grin. "It always helps to have a back-up."

Of course, the friends in high places hold the top spots.

She's by their daughter's side, leaning over and he steps forward, hands outstretched, ready to offer his help, but she doesn't need it. It's starting to hurt less, but the ache is still nestled deep within him.

Alex effortlessly lifts Camille into her arms, readjusting the girl's slack hold around her neck and hoisting her a little higher.

"Call a car for us, Caffrey?" she proposes as she turns around to face him.

"Got something against hailing a cab on the street, Alex?" he queries, his words shaped by his smile.

"Got something against being a gentleman, Neal?" she returns just as easily, eyebrows lifting in that amused fashion she frequently adopts in his company.

"You know, I could always get a loan of the Jag and drive you myself," he says to that.

"You think I trust you to concentrate on the road? You'd be too tempted to watch her sleep," she states, and then rolls her eyes, telling him in a sickly sweet tone, "A car will be just fine, thank you, Neal."

They're standing facing each other, all smiles; but something's sparked in their eyes, there's something different in the way they're looking at each other, and Mozzie notices.

He clears his throat. "I've called for you. They'll pick you up on the next block."

Alex rolls her eyes. "Right, because I've not come and gone enough from this place for people to notice already."

Their friend looks unimpressed. "Well, forgive me for attempting to have your best interests in mind. After all, it's not at all suspicious for you to be playing happy families when – "

"Moz," Neal asks of him. "Give it a rest for tonight."

Mozzie continues to make his unhappiness known, this time with a derisive _hmmph_, but nonetheless he doesn't resume his point, instead staring the three of them down with his hands crossed over his chest.

"You used one of the credit cards in my wallet to book it, didn't you?" Alex says after a minute.

"I did." He nods. "I even considered making a tab for your Miss. Craille, but I didn't like to assume her generosity would stretch that far."

"You'd probably be correct in that assumption," she responds.

Neal shakes his head at the pair. They've always functioned in this way; one minute they could be at each other's throats, the next they're complimenting the other on an exceptional contribution to _whatever_.

"You know, just because your offspring was gifted with exceptionally attractive features in a society that places exceeding importance on outward appearance, and also happens to be unfathomably endearing to those of varying degrees of character, does not mean her resemblance to either of you will go by unnoticed," Mozzie says then, barely stopping to take a breath in between, before there's concern in his warning, "I hope you both know what you're doing."

"She's our daughter, Moz," Neal tells him simply; because that should be answer enough. "What else is there to it?"

When he turns to Alex, he can't read the expression in her eyes, but he thinks it might be gratitude.

"Come on," he says to her, conjuring up a smile. "I'll walk you out."

He puts his hand at the small of her back and leads her towards the door.

"That defeats the purpose of my plan!" Mozzie calls out to them.

"We know," Neal replies laughingly and closes the door behind him.

.

Camille starts fussing as soon as they're outside, frustrated and tired little hands repeatedly brushing at her face where her pink and blue floral headpiece has been pushed down across her forehead.

Alex twists her neck to try and see what the problem is and lifts her other arm to try and sort the issue, when he wordlessly does it for her. He carefully pulls the headband away, gently brushing his thumb over a small red scratch on her tanned skin where the wind was making the accessory rub against her face. He runs his hand under the hood of her sweater and smoothes down her hair before tugging the zipper on her top up a fraction more to shield her from the cold. Their little girl snuggles into her mother's shoulder once more, content.

"You're getting good at this," Alex comments with a smile, when he pulls back to find her watching him.

"It's not so difficult," Neal responds cockily, grinning at her as he says, "I mean if you can excel at parenting, it's hardly going to be a hassle for me, is it?"

She laughs then; shaking her head at him, before she socks him in the shoulder. Surprisingly hard, for someone who's also holding a child in her arms.

He releases a little yelp and she uses her free hand to cover their daughter's ear; the one only shielded by the thick hood of her sweater and not pressed tightly into her mother's side.

"Multi-tasking is the key," she enlightens him, her face brimming with amusement.

"Because she's going to wake up from that," he replies, throwing her a scowl.

Alex shrugs. "You never know," she says, clearly still entertained by the whole affair. "You seem to be able to reach higher notes than most females if that squealing of yours is anything to go by."

"Now you're being sexist," he snarks back at her. "So maybe it's best she doesn't hear that. What kind of lesson would that be to teach our daughter?"

"As opposed to what you've probably got planned?" she counters. "_Pick-Pocketing 101, Safecracking for Beginners, How to Forge Bonds and Avoid a Conviction_, followed by an extensive tutorial on _How to Escape from Prison_ _Once and For All_."

Neal purses his lips, although they're curved at the edges; he can't help it, Alex has always been amusing when she wants to be.

"You know, I might sit in for that one; could come in handy if you get caught again and forget something. I'll get Mozzie to infiltrate the system as your lawyer and pass you all the info you need," the brunette continues, positively beaming by this point. "After all, we do make a rather formidable force when we combine our assets, don't we?"

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" he remarks.

She spins round, teeth bright under the streetlights as she gives him a dazzling smile. "Oh, is it that obvious?" she asks innocently.

Neal shakes his head, rolling his eyes at her while her laughter circles the night air.

Alex nudges him as they approach the end of the block where the car sits waiting, and he turns to face her with a smile to match her own. "Admit it," she says, almost gleefully. "You miss me when I'm not around."

He half-dodges the question in her words, as his eyes drift down to their daughter's sleeping form molded perfectly into her own and he replies, "Well, now you have a reason to stick around."

She nods, and leans forward to kiss his cheek as he holds the door open for her.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Caffrey," she responds instead and he hands her their daughter's headband before he drops a kiss to Camille's head, running his palm over the soft material of her hood and softly down the lean arch of her spine.

"Night, Alex," he replies with a smile and then closes the door when they're inside.

Neither of them says it, indeed they never have, but there's always been another reason for her to stick around.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think – it really does mean a lot!  
And just to say that if ever I don't reply to a review (unless you're anonymous and my answer would only give away my thoughts/ideas on what's to come and thereby ruin it for anyone stopping by to read), I'm terribly sorry, it's not intentional - my emails go to my phone, but I reply on my laptop, so sometimes I get a tad confused if I can't respond straight away - or when things happen like the crazy interferences from the site crashing! Also, that way I can check out the past/future chapters in order to accurately answer q's or give tidbits of info on what to expect if someone mentions they'd like to see something in particular and I've already got it marked down to happen, and the like - sorry for the rambling, hope you enjoyed it - and heads up, Peter makes a return next chapter :)  
Steph  
xxx


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

.

"_Come into the spotlight of mine  
Come into the spotlight  
So you can share with me  
Your creativity."  
_'_**Everylittlething', Caroline**_

.

Neal's sitting on the patio, when June appears and calls out his name. She steps aside and a tiny figure comes sprinting towards him, her lemon lace-ups pounding off the stone at a ferocious pace and her bright blue cropped turn-up shorts showing off her skinny little legs.

Camille comes to a screeching halt before him; her ponytail swinging high around the back of her head like the blades of a windmill. Her face is bright and giddy when she greets him as her mother makes her way towards them with June.

There's always a slight breeze at the very least on the secluded little spot outside his bedroom, but she's got a dark windbreaker on over her white button-down top to protect her from the brisk morning air and a baseball cap to match to shield her eyes from the sun.

And as he catches sight of the miniature tan coat in Alex's hand, the blur of yellow and the sudden familiar sight that initially confused him suddenly makes sense.

He shakes his head in anticipation of what he's about to see, finally recognizing what she's done. There's no denying Camille is his daughter.

He's grinning as he takes her in.

The dark cap on her head with the large yellow letters that spell out **FBI** and the windbreaker to match; she's definitely one of a kind.

"Turn around," he says, already entertained by thoughts of what his partner will make of it, never mind the other agents when they get into the office, as he sees the huge letters displayed there too. "That's genius."

"Momma said you'd like it," she tells him, happily.

"Oh, I do," Neal assures his daughter with a smile.

He looks from Camille to Alex who simply rolls her eyes and shakes her head, mouthing to him; _she's your daughter_.

"Peter is going to love this!" he comments, shaking his head at his daughter's antics, the laughter bubbling over.

Camille beams up at him, and then he feels something cold snap around his wrist and the telltale _click_ of the lock closing.

"Hey!" he cries out.

She simply grins up at him, handcuffs his other wrist, and triumphantly nudges her little yellow Ray-Bans up the ridge of her nose to fully cover her eyes. "You're under arrest, Caffrey."

He groans, dropping his head to his chest.

"Let's go," Camille says in an uncharacteristically gruff tone, and he shakes his head, unable to hide his smile as he stares at the ground while his daughter nudges him forward with each step.

The sound of clapping fills the morning air, and he lifts his eyes to meet his partner's.

"Very good, Peter," he awards the other man.

"Oh, this had nothing to do with me," Peter seems to take immense glee in informing him. "This was all Camille's idea."

"Nothing to do with her mother's influence either I take it," Neal remarks and cranes his head round to look at her.

Alex looks affronted. "I can assure you, ruining her new jacket by pretending she's part of some alphabet agency was most-definitely not my idea. Oh, no, Caffrey, this was all her."

"Come on you," Camille prompts, pushing him forward out the door, and then taking him by the arm to lead him down the stairs. His lips twitch up again when he sees her free hand trailing the banister on the way down; the idea of _safety-first_ for such a clumsy little girl is hilarious and terrifying at the same time. He'd seriously need to watch his step, knowing her (their) luck; they'd be tumbling down to the bottom if they weren't careful.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" he says, twisting to look at his partner over his shoulder as they near the foyer.

Peter doesn't even bother to hide his smile. "Oh, you have no idea."

"Couldn't I just – " Neal tries, lifting his arms up to fill in the blanks for him; he'll be out of them in seconds.

His partner gives him a rap on the shoulder and he stumbles a touch across the landing as he promptly drops his hands, which Peter rolls his eyes at; Neal isn't a klutz like his daughter after all, at least, not unless it's intentional or he's seriously off his game.

"Don't be such a spoilsport," Peter tells him.

"Says the one who has full use of both his hands," he snipes in return.

"I wasn't the one spinning tales about my prison break to a six-year-old," his partner counters.

"I merely told the truth," Neal replies, shrugging in all his innocent glory. "Is it my fault that the government imprisonment system has holes in its security that I just so happened to notice?"

Peter shoots him a look.

"Right," he takes the hint. "Don't answer that."

"You know, you're awfully cocky for someone who's about to be led through the FBI in cuffs," the other man notes, his tone once again displaying how entertaining he finds this whole situation.

Neal blanches. "Peter," he beseeches.

"Not the one you should be asking," his partner tells him with a grin, and a nod in the direction of the little girl leading him out onto the sidewalk. "I don't have the keys."

"Camille," he tries instead. "You're not actually going to keep these on me all the way up to Peter's office are you? I work there too, remember? I don't know how it'll go down if I'm taken into my place of employment in handcuffs."

"I think they'll think I'm as smart a cat as Mr. Peter," his daughter tells him with a devilish little smirk. "I caught the mouse, when they didn't."

"You know I've not actually done anything wrong this time," he says to that.

"Oh, I know," she assures him easily. "But this is really fun."

"Peter, please," he says again, that same pleading tone and turns back to him and lifts up his bound hands. "You can't let me go in there like this."

"Relax, Neal," his partner assures him, placing a hand on his shoulder that calms him instantly. It's the laugh that Peter emits next that has Neal flinching and glaring at the other man. "I'm sure everyone will find it endearing that you got arrested and frog-marched into the FBI building by a six-year-old."

"Cowboy up?" Neal surmises.

"Cowboy up," Peter concurs.

He nods, and moves towards the passenger side of the Taurus.

"Ah," Peter stops him, his face splitting into a grin as he holds the other door open for Neal. "Criminals sit up back."

He scowls at his partner, deciding there and then that he's going to get his payback on the other.

Camille unsnaps one of his wrists and cuffs herself with the free metal hoop as they near the car.

"No running," she tells him, and then uses both hands to latch onto the one she's handcuffed herself to as she looks up at him with a mischievous smile. "You're stuck with me now."

He wonders if she realizes he's not at all perturbed by this change of events; in fact he's as content with it as she appears to be.

"This is going to be so much fun," Camille exclaims, much to his partner's continued amusement, as she tugs excitedly on his hand.

"Come on, Neal, get in," Peter prompts, repeating his daughter's words of over-enthusiastically, "This is going to be so much fun!"

If he wasn't currently attached to his six-year-old, who isn't exactly known for being able to stay on her feet, he'd be severely tempted to use his free hand to smack that grin right off his partner's face.

He'll let Peter have his fun, but he's definitely going to get his revenge. After all, Camille is smitten with him; he's most certainly going to be using her little devious mind to get his own back.

Now _that_ will be fun.

Camille settles herself on his lap since Peter doesn't have a car-seat, and grins back at him intermittently during the journey.

He sits back, a sly smile spreading across his lips as he begins to think up the ways in which he could settle the score.

He's broken from his scheming to hear his daughter excitedly chatting away to her mother, who turns to give her the attention she's looking for with her words and insistent pointing. She's gazing out the window with one hand pressed up against the glass and finds his own palm resting neatly next to hers.

There's no doubt about it, there's nowhere else he'd rather be than right by her side.

.

Peter pushes the doors open for them and Camille holds onto Neal's arm as they walk into the middle of the bull-pen.

"Does that make Agent Burke three for naught, Caffrey?" he hears Diana call over to him.

"Actually, I was beaten to the punch by Camille here," Peter takes great pleasure in telling his Agent.

"They start them younger every year," Jones remarks sagely, shaking his head.

He taps the top of Camille's cap, emblazoned with the bright yellow capitals of their agency, and she looks up at him with a smile.

"Thought you were supposed to be a lock-picking extraordinaire, Caffrey," Diana teases him. "What happened? Couldn't charm your way out of this one?"

"Come on, Diana," Jones says, knocking her shoulder and gesturing to the smiling girl before them all. "Could you run from this face?"

"Alright, alright, what do you say we put Neal out of his misery now?" Peter proposes, looking down at the six-year-old.

She shrugs. "Sure, you're the one with the key."

"Peter?" Neal questions, turning to look at his partner in slight disbelief.

"No, I'm not," Peter quickly refutes at the same time.

"You gave the key to _her_?" Alex asks him, and when she sees the blank look on his face she bursts out laughing. "Oh, rookie error, Agent Burke."

"I put it in your pocket," Camille says simply, looking up at Peter who is frantically checking them all now.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Alex exclaims and then shoots at look at the Agent. "No pun intended."

She kneels down beside Camille, and takes their daughter's wrist in hand and gives the cuff a sharp tug, pulling their little girl free.

"Neal," Alex says, straightening, a smirk on her face. "You can sort yourself out."

He takes a moment to free his own hand from the cuff and drops them on his desk with a triumphant smile.

"Show off," Peter says and Neal just chuckles.

There's a small gasp and he looks down to see Camille looking up at him, her expression aghast. "You mean, you could've gotten out of them at any time?"

"I did _try_ to tell you I'm a man of many talents," he reminds her teasingly.

"Was this because I said Mr. Peter was better than you?" she asks in a small voice, scrunching up her face at him.

Peter laughs at that.

Neal shakes his head and winks at her. "Oh, he already knows I'm better than him," he informs her as his partner just rolls his eyes at him.

She giggles at that, and he can tell she's won over all the agents in their vicinity effortlessly; she probably didn't even need the little display.

"Besides, I was with you," he tells his daughter. "Why would I want to go anywhere else?"

The smile starts slow, until her whole face is alight and she's holding up her arms a second before leaping up onto him. He catches her whole and feels her carve a spot against him; it's amazing how easily she finds a niche in every part of his world.

Alex rolls her eyes at him, clucking her tongue. "Such a suck up."

Neal grins as he holds their daughter in his arms. If this is what he gets in return; damn right.

.

_**TBC…**_

* * *

A/N: to WC Fan - thank you for the concrit. Admittedly I do tend to get a little engrossed in writing Camille, so I apologise for that. I also forget that when I split whole sections due to length some chapters become more like 'filler' chapters.  
I'll try and add more plot into the chapters I've already written, and failing that, I'll try ensure there's some more plot included in those beyond that.

To Anon – thanks so much for such a long, wonderful review! Totally right about the Camille/Chameleon part, and your English is brilliant. I'm so glad that you're enjoying it, so I hope that continues with future chapters. It's always great to hear from more Neal/Alex shippers :)

To all – Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think :)

Steph  
xxx


	12. Chapter 12

Hope you enjoy…

* * *

Chapter Twelve

.

"_The present is never our goal: the past and present are our means: the future alone is our goal."  
**Blaise Pascal**_

.

While Alex leaves to relieve Jones of the task of looking after their daughter, Neal hangs back to finish speaking with Peter. Naturally, that's when he catches sight of another female and the rather glaring fact that she's approaching the mother of his child, at quite a pace.

He barely takes the moment to excuse himself from his partner's presence, before making a quick dash towards their position, trying to look as calm and natural as possible. They seem to enjoy testing him.

"This is Camille," he hears Alex introduce their six-year-old. "Cami, this is Sara Ellis."

"Oh, so _you're _his 'special friend'?" his daughter says at that, and she seems positively gleeful at the prospect of this discovery.

He takes that moment to step up and join their little gathering.

Camille quite noticeably looks the female up and down, before turning to him for confirmation on this point, still stressing the phrase he'd employed as she asks, "This is her, right, Mr. Neal? Your 'special friend'?"

"_Special friend_, Neal, really?" Sara says to that, turning to him in question. "What's wrong? _Girlfriend_ too generic for you?"

"Uh-oh," Camille murmurs, followed by a barely audible _eeek_; apparently sensing the sudden change in the mood despite Sara's somewhat teasing tone.

"Cami," her mother warns her quietly, and then looks to the other woman as she says, "In his defense, she caught him off-guard."

"Seems there's a lot of that going around," Sara comments.

"Now, Sara, come on," he implores, holding out his hands to stop her in her tracks. "You've been away and I would've called you, but _this isn't exactly something you tell someone over the phone_."

"What's not something you tell someone over the phone?" Camille inquires at that.

Alex shoots him a look that quite plainly reads: _are you out of your mind?_

"And she is only _six_," she adds, looking between the couple as she enunciates each word and emphasizes their daughter's age to impress her point.

It seems to have the desired effect.

Not a minute later, she turns to Camille with a smile and physically turns her around and steers her away from the pair, with the words, "Why don't we leave Neal and Sara to talk alone and we'll go see what Agent Jones is up to? I bet he'll be thrilled to entertain you again. He looks positively bored without your stimulating company."

Camille practically skips across the bullpen to Jones's desk, where she is greeted with a wide smile and open arms and a genuinely enthusiastic, "If it isn't my favorite six-year-old wonder!"

Alex shoots Neal a look over her shoulder, mouthing: _Sort it_.

He swivels round on his heels with a large toothy smile plastered on his face to meet Sara's raised eyebrows and her finger pointing across to the mother-daughter duo.

"What was all that?" she inquires.

He can relate to the disbelief at the sight: Alex made an impression whether you were in her company ten minutes or ten years, and it was not one that would so much as imply to others that she was a caring mother to a six-year-old little girl.

"That was Camille," he responds, and releases a brief laugh.

She isn't amused. Her impatience shows, and she crosses her arms over her chest in a manner he can't quite decipher as being defensive or unimpressed; he'd venture a guess that it's being utilized for both.

He realizes that the moment has worn off, the shock or whatever; now she just wants answers, understandably.

"On you go, Neal," she prompts of him. "Why don't you explain this little situation for me?"

"Camille's my daughter," he blurts out then, though he thinks she's likely already guessed as much.

Still, he watches as she opens her mouth and takes an audible breath in before she closes it again and starts to chew the inside of her cheek.

"She doesn't know," he continues hastily, "Camille that is. Obviously, Alex knows, she's the one who's had her all these years."

He's jittery, unsure of what her reaction is going to be; he's run the scenario through his head multiple times, so he's fairly prepared for a whole host of outcomes that could come his way. It's different from the cons though, because this involves his daughter, and he's been trying so hard to separate the two for his own sanity, to put his own mind at ease about the matter. He knows Sara won't suddenly run over and tell his daughter who her father is, so that's something at least. It's always easier to keep cool, stay focused, when there aren't as many feelings involved; the optimum procedure is zero personal involvement, really, that way you rule with your head not your heart. He's not been so good at that one lately, and it's really beginning to show; seriously, he's completely off his game. It kind of hurts.

"How long have you known?" Sara asks after a long silence has spread between the two.

"Not long," Neal assures her. "Alex sent me a note telling me she was coming back, but she only told me about Camille a few days ago."

She inhales deeply, processing this. "Is she going to tell her? That you're her father?"

"Yeah," he answers, and can't help the quirk of his lips at the prospect. "I mean, not yet. I'm trying to get to know her a bit first before we drop this on her, but yeah, soon she'll know."

Sara nods, and then she smiles at him. "She looks like you," she says, and then rephrases, "Both of you. I can see it."

He follows her gaze to see Camille standing in front of Jones holding up a fan of playing cards in front of her face, hiding her mischievous grin from his view. Alex catches them looking as she runs a hand over their daughter's light brown locks, lifting the brim of her baseball cap a touch so it doesn't cover her eyes as much; she doesn't betray anything, simply turns back to the animated, excited pair before her.

"You can't tell anyone, Sara," he tells her, and she turns her head to face him.

"Right, because Alex Hunter walking into the FBI with a child isn't going to alert enough people as it is? Now you don't trust me?" she questions.

He sighs, neither confirms or denies her suspicions, but instead replies, "Alex has kept her hidden for years. She doesn't want that life for her anymore, but we have to be realistic, we have enemies."

He disperses the thoughts that begin to flood his mind: the ones that keep him up at night when he's stupid enough to dwell on the negative and isn't quick or relentless enough to banish them from his mind and ensure they stay gone. He can feel her eyes on him throughout; she's always found him to be an interesting study.

"Theoretically, all anyone could testify was that a little girl was in the FBI and she happened to spend time conversing with us. The only people that know her true parentage are Peter, El, Mozzie and June. Jones and Diana knows she's Alex's, but not that she's mine or why they're here and the same goes for June's granddaughter," he adds, abruptly grinning. "She makes friends easily."

"You should get to know her," Sara responds to that.

"I know," he replies, tilting his head a fraction to get a better angle on her. "That's what I'm doing."

"No, I mean you should get to know her on your own," she clarifies. "Concentrate on being a father."

"What are you saying?" Neal asks, although he has a fairly clear grasp of what he presumes already.

"Come on, Neal, we're both intelligent people," Sara comments, giving him a look that tells him just to accept the level playing field.

"So you're ending this, because I have a daughter?" he says to that.

"I'd say I'm ending it _for_ her, but I would never blame a child for an adult's mistake," she replies.

"Camille isn't a mistake," he suddenly finds himself defending.

"That's not what I meant." Sara sighs, shaking her head as she mutters, "Emotions, such fun little additions to conversations."

She takes a deep breath in and then faces him fully once more.

"She's your daughter, Neal, and she's six years old," she says. "That's six years you'll never be able to get back for _whatever _reason."

And he understands from her emphasis that she's not blaming him or Alex, not really, it's just how it is. You can't always win; you can't always walk away with what you want, no matter how much he, especially, likes to believe otherwise.

"I don't want to be the reason you miss even another day with her," Sara tells him then. "I care about you too much to let you compromise this time with your daughter by trying to work out what's between us."

"Plenty of people in relationships have kids, Sara, it's not unheard of," he remarks, half teasing, half completely sober; it's a strange mix even to his own ears.

"No, but your daughter doesn't know you," she reminds him. "You need to concentrate on getting to know _her_ right now, not me."

He can make sense of her sacrifice, if that's what you call it; she isn't being a martyr, she's just being realistic. He doesn't know Camille, not really, at least not as well as he could – _should_ – and he does want to spend as much time with her as possible. She's right; there will be time for them later, if things work out, if they both still want it. It just isn't right now.

"I still think we could work something out," Neal tells her, and then flashes her a grin. "I'm a brilliant multi-tasker, you know."

Sara smirks at him, makes a point of looking him up and down and then replies, "Oh, I know."

"Just so we're clear where we both stand," he says then. "We both agree that I am an exceptional – "

" – I believe you said brilliant – "

" – an _exceptional _multi-tasker," he continues, with added emphasis on his increased self-value, "and we're both interested in _pursuing_ the other right now – "

He thinks he hears her repeat his words, "_right now_" but he's not entirely certain and it doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, so he dismisses it.

" – and despite what you might think, I am not actually a single parent, and as much as I want to get to know Camille, I do have multiple free hours at my disposal where she is not, in fact, under my care," he finishes. "So, really, there are work-arounds to these issues you seem set on."

"Neal," Sara just says, smiling half-indulgently at him. "I'm making the choice for you."

"But see that's the thing, there doesn't need to _be_ a choice," Neal contests, mildly aware that he may possibly sound like an over-eager teenager unable to take no for an answer. "We can _work around_ it."

"Get to know your daughter, Neal, just concentrate on that," she tells him. "And maybe in the future we can work something out."

The smile remains the same, except this time it's tinged with sadness.

"It's just too important for us to try and compete with," she says, and he understands.

"I know," he replies, agrees with her words, even though he wants to believe there's an alternative to what they're doing. Maybe for other people, he realizes, at different times, in different circumstances, but not for him and not right now.

Camille's been his main priority since he learned of her existence; why start pretending otherwise now?

.

"I just wanted to say that I'll keep your secret," Sara tells Alex when they're far enough away from Jones's desk that a certain six-year-old won't pick up on their topic of conversation. "I won't tell anyone about her. She's an innocent, it's hardly her fault what her parents do for a living."

"Ah, _did_," Neal chimes in at that, shrugging: habits, and all that.

She fits him with a look. "You work on the other side of the law now, remember Neal?" she says. "That comes with its fair share of danger, not to mention antagonism."

"I'd point out that I've never been officially charged," Alex mentions then. "But why bother when you've probably already read the file Agent Burke has on me?"

Sara smiles back at her, and he can feel a frown beginning to form across his brow. How is it _they_ can get along, but he's the one with issues when he tries with them separately? Women. Maybe Peter had a point; not that he'd _ever_ mention anything of the sort to his partner.

"Are you leaving?" Alex asks, watching the other woman closely for her response.

"Believe it or not, I actually have a job outside of the FBI field office," Sara replies with a laugh.

"Well, it was good to see you again," she says kindly. "I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other whenever Cami demands we visit Neal. It's fairly often, as I'm sure he'll take great pride in telling you."

"Actually, you won't," Sara responds.

"Oh." His old friend picks up on that quickly.

"It's ok," Sara tells her.

She turns to him and pats the spot above his heart, her smile faltering slightly as she does so.

"It's not like I didn't know who he was when I met him, that he had eventful past that might come back to bite him in the ass one day," she says, and releases a small laugh.

Alex just nods, and Sara turns back to him fully and leans forward to give him a kiss on the lips.

When she pulls away, she smiles sadly at him, swiping the tear from her cheek. "Take care, Neal," she tells him kindly.

And then Sara turns and walks away.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Apologies for the delay, I'm currently trying (and failing) to study for my exams.  
Also, apologies for any reviews I haven't replied to – same excuse applies – but please know that I am so so grateful to you all for taking the time to read and review and that it honestly does mean a huge amount to me that you're enjoying this :D

Also, also, I hope this isn't taken as Sara-bashing, because I did *try* to be impartial-ish when I wrote this, although obviously I was intent on ending her relationship with Neal, but I didn't want to make her horrible or anything, because I honestly think she'd probably be 'ok' with it, or see it as the 'right thing to do' *shrugs* but I'm not her biggest fan so it might not've come across that way...

Steph  
xxx


	13. Chapter 13

This one's slightly longer than the others and some parts might be considered 'filler' sections, but it allows progress to jump forward, so it is important :)

Hope you enjoy…

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

.

_"Time cannot be packaged and ribboned and left under trees for Christmas morning. Time can't be given. But it can be shared."_  
_**Cecilia Ahern, The Gift**_

.

"Neal," Alex tries as soon when Sara has stepped into the elevator, no longer in view.

"Camille," he calls out instead, and watches his little girl turn at the sound of his voice. "What do you say we go get an ice cream?"

Her whole face lights up and he hears her hastily tell Jones that she's sorry she can't continue their game, but she's going for ice cream, unless of course he wishes to come with them. He declines good-naturedly and when she turns around again, Neal and Alex are both standing next to her.

"Momma, you're coming too, right? To get ice cream," she chatters excitedly. "Mr. Neal's going to take me for some, isn't that right, Mr. Neal?"

He nods. "That's right."

She squeals, so easily entertained. "Is Mr. Peter coming too, shall I go ask him?"

Alex tugs her back with a pinch to the back of her FBI-emblazoned windbreaker before she can scamper off up the stairs to Peter's office.

"Why don't we make it an outing for just the three of us?" Neal proposes instead, and his heart swells when his daughter looks at him like this is the best idea she's ever heard.

.

"You're really enjoying that, huh?" Neal comments; watching the ever-present smile on Camille's face as she licks her cone, the sun highlighting her golden skin.

The six-year-old spins round and grins at him with ice cream covered lips.

Alex runs a hand over their daughter's ponytail as she comments, "You're being spoiled."

"I've been good though, it's a treat," she tells her mother, smacking her lips together and then grinning toothily up at the pair of them.

"So you _deserve_ it, is that what you're saying?" Alex asks, her tone teasing.

Camille nods enthusiastically.

"Oh, well in that case…" she says, and then swoops down to capture Camille in her arms, swinging her up in the air and cuddling her, peppering kisses on her ice-cream covered cheeks as their daughter's delighted squeals of laughter surround the little family.

"My clothes, Momma, my clothes!" Camille shrieks, and Alex just shakes her head at the girl as she lowers her back to the ground.

"As if you've ever cared about that," she remarks, watching their daughter as she licks the side of her cone, where the ice cream has melted and started to drip onto her hand.

The six-year-old runs her other hand over the front of her coat, smoothing it down. "But I have to look 'spectable for my interview," she replies.

"Well, in that case, we best get prepared now," Alex tells her and reaches over to remove her cap.

"Hey!" Camille cries put with a pout, her hand flying up to land on the top of her now uncovered head.

"Pony tail's next to go," her mother informs her, with a flippant point in the direction of the girl's swaying locks. "And if you think you're wearing that jacket, you've got another thing coming."

"What's this all about?" he asks around a laugh at the pair.

"Mommy and I are going to see my new school," Camille informs him, struggling to free herself from her FBI-approved windbreaker.

"What _might _be your new school," Alex rephrases, helping her out of her coat and then holding it out to him at arm's length with a slight look of revulsion.

"Oh, this is for me, is it?" he asks, although he already knows the answer, as he takes the item from her hand. "You're too kind."

"So I keep telling myself," she quips.

She pulls a hairbrush from her bag and calls their daughter over and starts to pull the bristles through their little girl's long locks. It looks so natural; he can't help but envy her, envy the pair of them.

"Come on," Alex says then, nudging him in the side to gain his attention. "We'll walk you back."

.

As soon as he opens the doors for her, Camille ducks under his arm and scuttles off towards Jones's desk.

Neal smiles as he watches her receive the same excited welcome as before, takes the time to simply enjoy the moment, before turning to Alex.

He watches her swallow, look between him and their daughter, before saying, "Look, you had a good thing going with your insurance girl, Sara, and you and Peter – "

"You still should've told me," he cuts her off, though he can tell she genuinely thought he was in a good place when she last saw him and she didn't want to disturb that.

Alex shrugs. "Maybe," she replies. "But I traded one treasure for another."

"The Nazi plunder," he says, realization flooding his senses.

A slow smile lips the edges of her mouth, and she nods. "_Cami's_ my destiny, Neal, and I can live with that," she tells him matter-of-factly.

Alex looks over at their little girl with the light brown hair and the deep blue eyes, now telling Jones rather loudly that if he ever expects to be good at card games, he has to be able to call her bluff. Neal watches her smile at the sight, and it's sobering just how beautiful she is.

She turns to him and offers him a consolation half-smile. "I just didn't know if you could live with that. I'm sorry."

.

"I even got to speak Italian!" his daughter tells him elatedly, dragging him through to the bedroom where her mother had been trying to get her to settle down for the night; if the excitement actually subsided. "The lady was well impressed."

"Very," Alex corrects almost automatically and Camille looks sheepishly up at him, having been mid-attempt at impressing him with her linguistic skills.

"I watched my words better when I was with the interview lady – I had to, you know, 'cos you've got to put on your best performance. You can't slip on the acting," his daughter informs him sagely. "Else your cover'll be blown and you'll have to find another way in."

Alex rolls her eyes and runs an affectionate hand through Camille's hair. "We'll get you a gold statue for your stellar _performance_ then, shall we?" she says.

"Will it say 'Best Daughter'?" the six-year-old queries then, beaming at the prospect as she leaps up and onto the bed. "Or 'Best Girl'? Or 'Best Six-Year-Old'? Or 'Best Camille'? 'Best Chameleon'!"

She starts giggling after she proposes the last two, and when he finally manages to tear his eyes away for just a second, he finds Alex watching him.

"What do you think, Neal?" the mother of his child asks, a small smile lifting her lips.

"Best daughter," he says easily, decidedly, and turns to their daughter's bright eyes and glorious smile. "Without a doubt, you'd win the award for 'Best Daughter'."

.

Camille is sitting cross-legged on the bed with a large hardback book spread out on her lap when he enters; Alex had suggested some quiet bedtime reading to herself to attempt at controlling some of their daughter's enthusiasm, given the time of night.

"I've been to Venice," she informs him, looking up from the current page where he sees a map of Italy along with various facts and images about some of the cities and recommended sights.

Well, that's interesting.

"Did you go with your Mommy?" he asks, his tone casual, as he sits down on the end of the bed.

"Mhmm," Camille nods, and then she backtracks. "Well, no, I went with Gruncle, but we _met_ Mommy there. It was fun – we got a _boat_ everywhere!"

"That sounds like a fun vacation," Neal replies with an easy smile.

"Yup, Mommy was taking a break from work, so we got to spend _loads_ of time together," she replies, her face bright with her smile. "And now it's like a vacation every day 'cos me and Mommy stay in the hotel and go swimming all the time and I get to play anytime I want too, and we can shop and eat cake. I like it here."

"Well, I'm glad," he responds honestly, and then takes the book from her hands. "Now come on you, less reading, more sleeping."

"Mommy likes it here too," she says, her voice tinged with drowsiness as she slides under the covers he's pulled back for her and tucks her in when she's settled. "I can tell. She smiles way more when you're around, _and_ I heard her say to Mr. Moz that she's happy you're friends with Mr. Peter and 'lizbeth."

Camille nods her head decisively against the big pillow.

"We both like it here," his daughter tells him with a sleepy smile.

"I like having you here," he tells her: understatement of the century, but truth nonetheless.

.

"She came to see you in Venice," Neal announces when he steps back into the living area, and she turns at his voice. "After I got Russell Smith off your back and Peter got you the flight. You brought Camille out to see you in Italy. She told me."

Alex just looks at him, waiting for him to continue.

"She said it was fun because she got to spend time with you," he continues, and he sees the first crack begin to show.

"And?" she prompts.

"I don't get it," he admits. "Why didn't you just give all this up? Why didn't you just take her and go somewhere no one could find you? Come on, Alex, it's not like you haven't sold enough high-end stock to bankroll the move – Hell, that Matisse alone would've been enough for you to get out of this business and never come back. So why didn't you?"

She works her jaw, and remains silent; uncharacteristic in itself.

"God, Alex, why didn't you – " he cuts himself off and that's when she pounces.

"Why didn't I what, Neal? Why didn't I give her up? Hand her over to an anonymous couple to raise?" she demands, standing and appearing right before him.

She's breathing hard, and he watches her take a deep gulp.

"She's my daughter," Alex grinds out. "I won't give that up for anything."

"No, but you'll put the job over her well-being, you'll run off to New York City and steal the music box and spend your days picking pockets to pass the time while she's being brought up by the man who was left to raise you," he returns; worked up.

"Don't you preach to me about giving up the job. You're tethered to the FBI and you still run your scams," she replies. "You got caught and you lost Kate and you're still doing the same thing that got you put away in the first place."

"Don't bring Kate into this," he tells her.

"Why not?" she demands, fire blazing in her eyes.

"She has nothing to do with this!" he seethes.

"She's half the reason you don't know your daughter, Neal!" she returns angrily, her hushed tone only making the words lie heavier in the air.

"No!" he practically shouts before he collects himself, remembers the company they keep. "Don't you put that on me, you kept her from me! I didn't know!"

"You didn't want to know," she replies angrily. "No one else mattered, but Kate."

"That's not true," he feebly tries to refute.

"She was the most important thing to you, and even then you couldn't give it all up," she says. "What was I supposed to think would happen if I told you about Camille?"

"You could've given me a chance," Neal comments. "You never gave me a chance."

"Well, now I am," Alex replies, still annoyed.

She turns her back on him and throws herself back into her previous seat. A minute passes, and then she flips her hair out of her face, irritated, as she twists round to look at him again.

"And don't try and compare what you do with what I do. I can _spend _the money I make without incurring a paper trail that leads me to prison, so I can provide for my daughter and keep her safe," she continues; voice not as loud, but the intent still there, the tone still hard. "The only time I did get caught, I got out of it because I _know_ people, Neal, and I know their secrets and I make _smart decisions_."

"It's not like I want to have enemies," he replies in a smaller voice, almost petulant. "I would never intentionally put Camille in harm's way."

"You piss people off, Neal, because you're a narcissistic son of a bitch," she tells him, and she shrugs, and the corners of her lips tweak upwards. "That's just the way it is. It's just who you are."

"Yeah, but I've always looked out for you, haven't I?" he returns, his tone softening as her expression does.

"Because, as June likes to continually remind me, you have a good heart," she answers, and then, almost reluctantly, there's another slight quirk of the lips and she adds, "One that your daughter shares."

"I just want the chance to there for her," he appeals to her.

"Well, you're her father, so you damn well better be there for her," she returns instantly.

He cracks a smile. "Does that mean you'll tell her?"

"That was always the plan, Caffrey." She rolls her eyes; they've been over this, been over it all really. "I could hardly stand her parroting _Mr. Neal_ all the time. It's bad enough with your Fed, nevermind adding Mozzie to the list as well. It wouldn't surprise me if she's doing it on purpose; she knows how to push my buttons."

"You were the one who taught her manners," he quips.

"She's never had to use them this much in her life!" she exclaims. "You and all your… _plus-ones!_"

Neal laughs and Alex smacks him on the arm.

"Stop being so smug," she comments.

He rubs the spot where she hit him. "I can't help it," he says, the frown replaced with a growing grin. "She reminds me of someone."

"I am not that annoying," is her immediate retort.

He raises an eyebrow.

"Whatever," Alex brushes him off. "You deserve it."

"I don't doubt it," Neal remarks with a tilt of the head and a smirk.

A beat later she turns back to look at him, and there's a fully-fledged smile on his face.

"Shut-up, _Mr. Neal_," she comments.

He holds up his hands in defense. "Hey! I'm not the one that finds it annoying," and then he grins at her, "Actually I think it's rather endearing."

She rolls her eyes; predictable. "You would."

.

"Listen, I have some things I need to sort out with my Uncle's estate," Alex tells him after she's returned from tucking their daughter in. "I shouldn't be gone long, a few days at most."

"You said _I_," he notes, as he savors the taste of the wine he's just swallowed.

"I did," she returns, her lips curving at the edges as if he's amusing her.

"As in singular," he continues, and watches as she casually pours herself a glass of red.

"Congratulations Caffrey, you're on par with your daughter's grasp of the English language," is Alex's response to that, complete with mock toast as she tilts her wine glass in his direction with a smirk; she's definitely amused by him.

"You're not taking Camille with you?" Neal asks; his point all along.

"I thought you'd relish the opportunity for some one-on-one time with your daughter," she says, casually, although they're both aware of the weight in it.

"I do, I am, obviously, I just wasn't expecting it," he replies.

He's really not enjoying her throwing him off guard as well; they're clearly taking advantage of his sub-par functionality around them these days. He should file a motion against them for the injustice of it all; he knows at least one of them is in the system.

"She has to be alone with you sometime, Neal," she comments with a light shrug. "This way I can kill two birds with one stone."

"Nicely put," Neal responds, inclining his head towards her. "So, is this some sort of test?"

"She adores you, and she's far more amenable than most children, I hardly think this'll be much of a challenge for you," is what Alex says to that; it hardly answers the question, but he'll take it anyway.

"So that's a no on the test," he surmises. "If I fail, you're not going to have her keep calling me Mr. Neal are you?"

"And risk damage to my own brain in the process? No, thank you," she answers smartly. "I already told you I'd tell her, but for now you need to spend time with her."

"Will she – " he starts, stops himself, and then starts again, "Will she be ok with staying with me?"

"Did you not listen to what I just said?" she asks, raises an eyebrow at him to impress her point and then lets out a laugh as she says, "Neal, she's going to jump at the chance."

His confidence returns in the form of his wide toothy grin.

"And failing that, she'll do as her mother tells her."

It's Alex's turn to smile now.

.

_**TBC…**_

* * *

I haven't given up this fic, I'm just in the middle of exams – still :/ – and living the real life haha so this hasn't been my main priority. I do intend to complete this fic, so hopefully from next week onwards I'll get my head back in the game, although ngl my muse has been pulling in the direction of other fics, but I'm determined to complete this and my WC fics have all reached completion so far lol so that should be a good sign.

Apologies for the wait and for not replying to reviews – I think I did with some, but not all, so sorry about that.

Also, I had a reply typed out for the anon who commented on my Sara-bashing, but I think it must've been on my other laptop and I don't feel like switching just to add it in and I don't reckon I should subject my other readers to a lengthy reply where I justify why I wrote what I wrote in my own story. Basically, I'm sorry if you felt that way, and you don't want to continue to read on, whatever you think I don't *hate* Sara, but either way this was never going to be a Neal/Sara fic.

Thanks for reading and reviewing – as always, it means so much to me that you'd take the time to do so, and I hope you continue  
Steph  
Xxx


	14. Chapter 14

This chapter is prob my longest yet, and one of the most fun to write just for the sake of sheer silliness. Hopefully you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it…

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

.

"_Our blunders mostly come from letting our wishes interpret our duties."  
__**Unknown**_

.

Neal is no sooner through his partner's front door than he's questioning, "So, what's so exciting it warranted a trip to your home instead of the office?"

"We're brainstorming," Peter tells him, already walking towards the dining room table to continue doing just that.

"Brainstorming?" he repeats, and then turns to usher his daughter through the threshold after she'd been dawdling on the front steps.

"Wasn't that what I said?" his partner replies, and then he catches sight of an already familiar brunette behind Neal, silently appeasing her curiosity by continuing to simply look around the space. "Oh."

"How about you watch some TV while Peter and I do some work?" Neal proposes, smiling down at his little girl.

Camille looks up at him; swithering from side to side, her uncertainty is obvious. "I don't really watch television," she enlightens him.

Neal sees Peter throwing his gaze to the wall with a sigh, because _of course_ she doesn't. She's his daughter; nothing's ever easy with him, why should he expect any less from his offspring.

"Can I read a book?" she asks, her expression hopeful.

"Sure," Neal replies; he's had more complicated requests. He turns to his partner with a grin, "Got any child-friendly literature around here?"

Peter fits him with a look before he begins to scan his bookcase.

"What about this one?" he finally suggests, pulling it from the shelf to hand it to the six-year-old.

"The FBI Field Manual?" Neal asks, intercepting the hand-off to read the title, and lifting his eyebrows at the man next to him, unimpressed. "Seriously, Peter, is that just your go-to guide for everything? Got anything else; maybe something a little less restrictive?"

"Right, of course, what was I thinking providing insider tips to a criminal's daughter on how to evade the law?" Peter mutters as he snatches it out of his hands with a scowl and puts it back in its place.

"My Momma's not a criminal," Camille tells them; so childlike and matter-of-fact.

Neither of them say anything, not quite sure where this is leading or which direction they should even steer it.

"She's never been put in jail," his daughter continues, and looks up at him then with those words; much to the sudden amusement that appears to have overtaken his partner's features.

"I have heard it said that the moving business is the safer option," Peter remarks at that.

Neal pointedly ignores him and instead announces, "You know what? A little television won't do you any harm."

He plucks Camille from her place and lifts her across to the couch, and then sets about finding a child-appropriate channel. He hands the remote to Camille when he's confident she's happy with his choice and walks back over to his partner.

"Shall we?" Neal asks, already moving towards the table where there are several folders set out.

"By all means," Peter says, stifling a laugh as he follows after him.

.

"I'm hungry," Camille announces, and they look up from the mountain of paperwork they've amassed in the short space of time to find her standing at the end of the table between them.

"Well, Peter?" he says to that, looking across at his partner.

"Me?" Peter answers. "She's your – responsibility."

"She's in your home," Neal replies; not missing a beat after the other man's near slip-up.

Peter opens his mouth to retort, but he beats him to it.

"What would Elizabeth say if she knew this was how you treated your guests?" he inquires, unable to stop the smug look from passing over his face.

"She'd say you're not considered a guest anymore because you take it upon yourself to invade our home so much, and I have no obligation to aid such a nuisance," is the retort.

"Must you wound me so?" Neal feigns a hurt look, his hand over his heart for added effect. "And actually that's what you'd say, not your wife. Nevertheless I'll meet you halfway, and go see what you've got in the fridge."

"In _my_ fridge, not _the_ fridge," Peter rephrases. "It belongs to me; it's not something we share, it's mine and mine alone."

"Peter, please, this is important," he interrupts him with a frown that chastises him for his lack of manners and awareness of the situation as he then ducks his head back round the door with a grin to ask of his daughter, "Are you a fan of devilled ham?"

The face she makes is answer enough and he laughs his way back into the kitchen as his partner scowls at him.

Finally, when they're running out of ideas and products, Neal suggests, "How about we make some pancakes?"

Camille's face lights up and Peter groans; of course she'd pick the messiest, most complicated option offered to her, she takes after her father.

.

"Neal," Mozzie says as soon as the line connects. "I need you to come meet me."

"I'm at Peter's just now with Camille," Neal responds, looking over to where his daughter is excitedly cracking the eggs off the edge of the bowl as Peter looks warily on. "Can't it wait?"

"I know where you are, I'm across the street," his friend replies. "And leave the small person. The Suit can look after her."

He rolls his eyes and exhales as the line goes dead, and then rejoins the pair in the kitchen.

"I have to go meet Mozzie," he tells them, and then looks between the two. "Will you be okay here?"

Peter's eyes widen a touch at the prospect of being left alone with Camille, while she just nods at the notion, not phased in the slightest.

"You're not taking her with you?" his partner inquires.

Neal shrugs. "She wants pancakes," he says.

She grins up at him, before twisting round to deliver the same message to his partner.

"You'll be fine," he assures him. "I'll be back soon."

.

"This better be good, Moz," he says as he nears his friend, seeing him kitted out with a large set of headphones.

"Oh, it is," is the assured response.

"Care to explain?" Neal inquires, his eyebrows lifting in question.

"How about I _show_ you instead?" Mozzie returns, and produces another electronic contraption from inside his coat.

It's a live video feed of the Burke household, and when he tilts his head to the side to fit Mozzie with a look, he finds another set of headphones being held out in offering in place of an explanation.

His friend can't lift his hands up in defense, but his expression does it well enough for him.

"Don't worry," Mozzie says, placating any fears he may have for repercussions on his partner's side. "I got El's permission first."

He offhandedly wonders if the infamous Peter Burke gut-detector is in full swing right now.

"She was of the same opinion as I that it would be highly entertaining to watch The Suit try and handle your offspring for a short time," Mozzie informs him, and then turns back to the screen with a devious smile.

When Neal remains silent, still trying to take this all in; sure, he's quick, but this is a little otherworldly at the moment, he receives a nudge in the side.

"Come on Neal, you know you want to see how your FBI man does without back up," his friend prompts, and he makes his alliance known by taking the proffered headset and positioning it firmly over his own ears.

He grins like a Cheshire cat when he sees Peter kit his daughter out in thick oven gloves and then carefully help her to get a grip of the handle of the frying pan before she attempts to flip the pancake that simmers within. The sound of his partner's instructions and the trepidation in Peter's voice as he tells the six-year-old to be careful and not to flip it too high or too vigorously is almost endearing.

Naturally, Camille does it with incredible gusto, and the pancake goes flying up in the air until it attaches itself to the kitchen ceiling. The eyes of both occupants point skyward, yet when the pancake starts to unravel from the surface above it still somehow manages to land on Peter's head.

They watch as he peels the half-cooked batter off his face and deposits it in the nearby trash-bag, before turning back to face Camille.

The six-year-old is holding the frying pan out towards him with bright eyes and a hopeful smile that make a play of her innocence. "Will we try again?" she asks, deliberately cheerful.

Peter works his jaw and takes a deep breath in before plastering a large, overly enthusiastic smile back on his face. "Sure, why not?"

And they can't help it: they're laughing throughout.

.

"What did I miss?" Elizabeth's voice joins them a moment later as she hurries up to where they're standing, hunched over the all-too-small screen.

Mozzie shares the scene with her, saying, "Perfect audio, real time footage _and _pause/rewind functions, that's right, I am a man of many talents."

She wraps her arms around his shoulders and gives him a squeeze. "And we appreciate it, Mozzie," she tells him genuinely with a smile, and then she bursts out laughing at the sight they just witnessed, before commenting, "Oh, poor Peter."

"D'you think he'll ever trust me again?" Neal inquires casually, still smiling brightly.

"If he doesn't, you can always employ your daughter to speak on your behalf," Elizabeth tells him amusedly, sharing a look with him, as she fixes her own headset. "I'm sure she'd win him round to your side eventually."

"Maybe not!" Mozzie calls out, drawing their attention back to the screen, and Elizabeth lifts a hand to her mouth to cover her immediate outburst of laughter. Neal and Mozzie have no such desire to quash their amusement and allow their hearty laughter to fly free with the wind.

.

"Watch, it's heavy – " Peter calls out, holding out his hand in a move that proves useless mere seconds later.

The bowl of pancake mix topples off the counter and lands on the floor with a great _crash_. It shatters on impact, but not before splattering its contents all over Camille on the way down.

The six-year-old wipes the sticky substance out of her eyes, separating her bangs so she can see as she flicks a dollop of _goo_ on the floor.

She lifts her arms in a shrug, palms up though she doesn't really offer him anything, and grimaces a little at the mess. "Oops."

Peter drops his head to his chest with a sigh and a shake of the head, hands on his hips, and it's written all over his face; the one thought that's running through his mind. _Unbelievable_.

And outside, the group huddles over the footage and laughs.

.

"Hey hon," Elizabeth greets her husband with a smile, even though he can't see her when she answers the phone. "How's it going?"

"Oh, Elizabeth, thank God," Peter breathes out in response. "Tell me you're on your lunch break."

"I am," she replies, playing her part perfectly. "But what's wrong? You sound all worked up about something."

"I need you to come home," her husband tells her.

She frowns, and it manifests itself in her voice, "Why? Has something happened?"

"_Neal_ happened," Peter practically growls in return.

"What did he do now?" she asks as she shoots a look across at him.

Neal simply raises his hands, shrugging his shoulders, with a wide grin on his face. As far as he's concerned, he got roped into all this through a plan she and Mozzie hatched together; he's innocent here. Not that he isn't taking immense pleasure in watching it all unfold, of course. He'll gladly take this as his partner's payback for the little stunt with the handcuffs.

"He left me alone with Camille," Peter explains, and then grinds out, "I swear if I find out that phone call wasn't an emergency I'll wring his scrawny little neck. Did you know she was so accident-prone?"

Elizabeth shakes her head at both men next to her, and turns her attention back to the phone call.

"She's broken a bowl already and spilled pancake mix all over herself, and when I tried to get her upstairs she tripped and now there's little sticky hand prints all over the walls, and _of course_ I thought she was going to crack her head open after her earlier display so I threw myself forward to catch her and I've got batter all over myself now too," he continues with a tired, wrought-out sigh.

Elizabeth can't help but giggle. "Oh honey," she says, mildly sympathetic amid her amusement. "I'm afraid I'm on a working lunch at the moment. Why don't you call Diana?"

"Ok, that's good. Yeah, and I'll get her to bring Jones, he entertained her well enough when Alex brought her into the office," he tells her. "Thanks, hon."

"My pleasure, honey," she replies.

Somehow she manages to hang up just before another bout of giggles erupts from her lips.

"He's going to call Jones and Diana for help," she tells the pair.

"Hmm, I wonder if they could be persuaded to bring the van," Mozzie muses out loud.

Neal looks at him like he's insane; not only will Peter likely notice the familiar gray surveillance van parked across the street from his own home, but he knows Moz hates the vehicle as much as he does.

"To hook this up to so we can get bigger screens to view it on," Mozzie completes his thought, looking at Neal with an expression that tells him he'd have thought that much was obvious.

Neal nods slowly. "Right," he remarks. "I think we'll just stick with your handheld for the moment, Moz."

"You try and improve on a good thing, you get shot down," Mozzie grumbles, and Neal just shakes his head at friend, sharing a smile with Elizabeth, who is watching the pair with a fond expression.

"Come on," she cajoles the pair of them, "Let's go put my husband out of his misery."

.

When Neal finally manages to get Camille to stop laughing and talking and going over-and-over what she and Peter had done in his absence, he gets her into a bath and leaves her to her own devices; the six-year-old quite content to play around in the water and clean herself of all the pancake mix, taking particular delight in smelling each of the bottles in turn that make up Elizabeth's collection along the edge of the tub.

He warns her not to use all of his partner's wife's bubble bath and the other various contents within the jars, and she just grins up at him, all innocent and childlike as if she'd never dream of doing such a thing. Neal shakes his head at his daughter, already aware that he'll likely have to replace the whole collection; she's costing him a fortune and she's only been with him a day, but he couldn't care less. All the clichés in the world couldn't prepare him for how he feels now he knows of her existence, now he has her in his life; she's priceless and irreplaceable and she's made him a better man already; how could anything else even begin to compare?

Elizabeth shoos him downstairs where Jones and Diana are sitting with Peter, going over the details he and his partner hashed out earlier for their latest case. She insists on washing his daughter's clothes, and goes about finding something for his little girl to wear while he goes back to work, so to speak, ensuring him that she'll keep an eye on the accident-prone child. He trusts her implicitly, but still, it is somewhat surprising how easily he also trusts her and her husband with his child. It's nice, he realizes, it feels safe, and he'd be lying if he said it didn't make him love them that much more.

Some time later, with Camille still otherwise occupied up the stairs, a head pops round the door and he hears his friend ask, "Is it safe to come in now?"

Elizabeth's laughter has Mozzie stepping fully into the house and she personally escorts him into the living room where the others are, ensuring him that Peter has promised no physical harm of any kind.

"And no government tagging either," Mozzie prompts.

He eyes Peter and the other two FBI agents flanking him skeptically.

"This isn't going to be some big government conspiracy where – "

"No, Moz," Elizabeth cuts in gently, smiling indulgently at him and patting his arm as she tells him, "No retribution of any kind."

She sends a sly smile over to her husband as he watches them in silence.

"Peter is well aware of how crafty I can be," she sends him a wink and Neal watches as the corner of his partner's lips tweak upwards in the slightest move, before Elizabeth turns back to Mozzie and comments with a mixture of reassurance and self-pride, "He knows you were powerless to go against my little plan, such is the brilliance of my creation."

Diana shares in Elizabeth's laughter, while Jones just shrugs at his partner, who is shaking his head at his wife as she stands between Neal and Mozzie and beams back at him.

She is a woman of many admirable, enviable talents; not least of all the hold she has over her husband.

Neal grins: with Elizabeth on his side as the main attraction, and Camille as an added bonus, Peter will never be able to stay mad at him again. It really all is about who you know, and he's racked up quite the exceptional list of contacts; then again, he's been known to play to his strengths, and no one's ever accused him of being a terrible people-person.

Camille calls down the stairs to Elizabeth to tell her she's dressed and asks if she can brush her hair, breaking up their little gathering.

"Alex usually does it for her," Neal notes, and Elizabeth nods and makes her way back up the stairs minutes after she's just descended them, with a smile that tells him she's more than a little pleased, even somewhat honored, to be asked to perform a role usually reserved for his girl's mother.

Mozzie has whipped out his handheld screen, and Diana is already in a fit of laughter as she watches her boss peel a half-cooked pancake off his face, Jones joining in moments later, when he turns back to see Peter shaking his head at the lot of them.

"This is your fault you know," his partner says, giving Neal one of the many versions of the famed finger-point.

"My fault?" Neal asks in return, feigning innocence. "I got dragged into this by your wife's sneakiness and Mozzie's entrapment – I'm as much a victim as you are!"

"That girl created havoc in my house – I don't think there was a surface left untouched by that damn pancake mix, and I had fraught nerves all afternoon every time she took a damn step thinking she'd fall and crack her head open or choke on an egg or something equally ridiculous and _you_-like – and yet somehow she still managed to make delicious tasting pancakes at the end of it all," Peter reminds him, reiterating his point by stabbing the air with his fingers in Neal's direction as he repeats, "Your fault."

He's not getting out of this one, and to be honest, he's too damn amused by the whole scenario not to revel in the pride that had overtaken him as soon as he saw her running riot and has yet to let up since. He can't help it, she does crazy things to him, and he loves her for it.

So Neal simply shrugs, and sends Peter his winning smile and says, "What can I say? She's my daughter; she takes after her Daddy."

But instead of hearing his partner _tut_ at what has become his typical response, or hear Diana scoff at his comment, the room goes suddenly quiet and a small voice speaks up instead.

"_You're_ my Daddy?" Camille asks.

He is so screwed.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

I apologise for not replying to reviews – life's been mega hectic lately, but should be calmer now so I'll get back on that ASAP ;) – but as always, it really does mean so much to me that you take the time to leave me your thoughts.  
Thanks for reading, and please do let me know what you thought of the chap or my fic in general :)  
Steph  
xxx


	15. Chapter 15

Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

Previously

"_You're_ my Daddy?" Camille asks.

He is so screwed.

.

Chapter Fifteen

.

"_There comes a point in your life when you realize that nothing will ever be the same, and you realize that from now on time will be divided into two parts – before this and after this."  
__**Unknown**_

.

Neal slowly turns and meets Camille's wide eyes and shocked expression.

Well, this certainly wasn't on the agenda of activities to partake in while she stays with him. Sure, it's no secret he's wanted to tell his daughter who he really is to her, but not like this; even he didn't think he was that inept. Evidently, all those times he noticed she was seriously putting him off his game, he should have been doing something about it; now it's too late and it's come back to severely bite him in the ass.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but what can he say except _yes! Yes, I'm your Daddy! _His expression must say it all and she's always been a perceptive little thing, because he can clearly see the surprise turn to confusion and then anger and upset as it plays across her young face.

Then she turns and high-tails it out the door: oh there's no denying she's his daughter alright, she's a speedy little thing too.

He's out the door mere moments after her, rushing past Elizabeth and hearing the sounds of his partner's footsteps and his name being called close behind.

The shorts that he imagines are quite skimpy on Elizabeth flap around his daughter's legs, unfolding as she sprints along the sidewalk, the band that had secured the oversized top around her waist having come undone also so it catches in the wind and makes him think of the grand sails on a yacht as it makes headway for the open water. Camille's bare feet slap against the concrete and he winces with every pounding his own take to catch up with her.

When he finally does so, he grabs her round the middle and hoists her up into his arms; he doesn't let go even as she struggles to get free.

"I know you're upset," he tells her, "But let me get you back to Peter and Elizabeth's house. It's too cold out here for you, just let me take you back. Then I'll let you go and you can yell and scream and kick me and do whatever you want to me, ok?"

She protests; loudly and emphatically, with more sharp kicks from her tiny feet to the open target of his body as she thrashes about in his hold.

"Let me go," she cries out and her tears rain down on his face, the droplets of water from her soaking hair showering over the rest of him, and he gasps involuntarily as if she's burned him; but he keep his hold on her, as strong as ever. "I don't want you! Let me go! I want my Mommy!"

He thinks that's about the crux of it.

"Come on, Camille, you know she's not here right now," he tries to cajole her; tries to make her see reason, because she may be a child, upset though she is, but she's smart and mature beyond that of her peers, and he knows he can get her to understand; if only she'll let him. "Let me take you back to the house, and we'll call her, you can speak to her, alright?"

"Let me go!" she shouts at him, staring at him with red-rimmed eyes, and her mouth set in a hard line.

"No. Never," he replies firmly, if anything holding onto her that bit tighter as he stares right back at her. "I'll never let you go."

"Ok," she tells him softly, swallows a hiccup and continues to keep her eyes fixed on his; even with the harsh wind blowing in gales around them, he hears her clearly. He doesn't think anything could ever drown out the sound of his daughter's voice in his ears.

"Ok," he says; puts his hand on the back of her head, holding her close, as she lays her cheek against the crook of his neck and he carries her back towards his partner's house.

"You ok?" Peter asks as they reach him, almost breathless from the sprint and the gust that steals it from his lungs.

Neal nods, allows a small smile to curve his lips as he looks down at the little girl gripping onto the front of his lapels, safe in his arms.

"Yeah, we're ok."

.

"Is it true?" he hears his daughter ask, and he looks over to see her looking up at Elizabeth and Peter with large inquisitive eyes. "What Mr. Neal said? About him being my Daddy?"

"Why don't we just wait until we hear from your Mommy?" Elizabeth slowly replies, looking over his child's head to her husband, as if for added backup.

Peter nods, giving his wife the support she needs. "Let's wait and see what your Mommy says," he tells Camille.

In response, his daughter bows her head, and pulls the blanket Elizabeth gave her tighter around her slight frame.

Neal watches her as he waits for the line to connect, the frown on his face growing more deep-set with every minute that passes.

"Alex," he jumps straight to the point when she finally picks up, "We have a problem."

He can already tell she's rolling her eyes to go with the sigh he hears from her end. "What's happened now?" Alex responds. "Please tell me she hasn't broken anything or become so disfigured no one will even recognize her as my daughter, nevermind yours."

"No, nothing like that," he quickly dismisses. "But I may have let slip that she's my daughter – in her presence."

As expected the change, her reaction, it's instantaneous.

"You did _what?_"she demands.

"We're at Peter and Elizabeth's and Camille had made a mess making pancakes earlier so she was upstairs having a bath and Peter made a comment about it being my fault, and I said that she took after me… and then I turned around and Camille was standing there and she asked me if it was true and I didn't know what to say and then she bolted out the door," he reels off, dragging in a breath when he's done.

"So she's _missing?_" Alex questions then.

"No! God, no!" he answers, horrified at the mere suggestion that he could let _that_ happen. "No, I caught up with her, managed to bring her back here, but I – Alex, I don't know what to do."

There's silence on the other end, but Neal can hear the sound of her breathing, so he knows she's still there. He supposes that's a good sign; that she's not simply hung up on him.

"I didn't mean for it to happen, Alex, honestly – I swear, I know I said I wanted to tell her, but I would never – not like that – you know I wouldn't – not to her, not like that," he's rambling, he knows, but the words aren't matching up with the speed of their formation, with the urgency of his need to explain, to have her understand that this wasn't intentional, that he would never do that to their little girl, would never hurt her like that; he just wouldn't.

"I know," Alex says to all that: motherhood has _seriously _been amazing for her.

He supposes she just responds to whatever her daughter needs, and right now, rational thinking apparently trumps chewing him out; thank God.

"You know I'd be knocking three shades of shit out of you right now if I was there, don't you?" she continues between gritted teeth.

Unfortunately he does; he's not an idiot, time and distance between him and his pursuer is what's kept him alive all these years.

The sound she releases next is a mix between a growl and a groan; it serves its purpose in relaying her aggravation to him, as if he hadn't picked up on it already. "God Caffrey, you never make things easy, do you?"

Then she exhales, as if steeling herself for what's to come, what she's about to do.

"Put her on the phone," she tells him.

"Alex, are you sure – ?" He cuts himself off; he's never really questioned her parenting before, isn't entirely certain that's even what he's doing now, but the words fall from his lips before he can catch them, all the same.

"Well, since I imagine _our daughter _is feeling fairly upset and confused at this precise moment and I can't be there with her or tell her in person, and I don't particularly want her to hear it from anyone else or have to endure a night of feeling this way, this is the best I can do right now, Neal, so yes, I am sure. Put her on the phone," she responds; voice clipped and impatient; she's still angry, _naturally_, but she's dealing.

She's been at this longer than him, he tells himself, she knows what she's doing; and if he thinks about it, if he asks himself, this is what he'd been hoping for all along when he called her to tell her what he'd done, what had happened.

"Camille," he calls over to her. "Your Mom wants to speak to you."

His daughter hops off the couch and walks over to him, takes the phone from his hand and does that thing she does whenever she greets her mother; says her name like Alex is all she'll ever need. It hurts just like it did that night he thought she was going to die, right there in front of him as he watched her gasp for air while she tried to call out for her mother; right here, standing in front of him, when she says her mother's name, it feels like he's close to losing her all over again.

That thought alone terrifies him.

.

"Cami, babe, are you alright?" he hears Alex ask of their daughter.

"I'm fine," Camille responds. "I went outside with wet hair and bare feet."

"You want me to tell you off?" her mother inquires, and he can hear the disbelief that travels the line as he sits by his little girl's side; watching, waiting.

"You're not going to?" the six-year-old counters. "I made a mess of Mr. Peter and Miss 'Lizbeth's house too. I got pancake mix everywhere and smashed a bowl, but they were accidents, I ran outside on purpose."

"I heard," Alex answers, and he can tell by her tone that she's waiting for what their daughter has to say next.

"And you're not going to tell me off?" Camille responds, and there's a slight frown on her face; he's not the only one that can tell their girl is deflecting, that at the very least there's a double meaning in there somewhere. Maybe he's not a complete failure as a father after all.

"That depends," her mother replies. "I heard you had a good reason for running away, and then you came back. That true?"

"Uhuh," their child nods with the murmur of agreement.

"So are you trying to get me to tell you off because then you can tell me off too?" the elder asks, and there's a knowing edge there; a mother knows her child, Alex knows Camille.

For a minute, their little girl stands still, worries her lip and doesn't say a word.

Then the six-year-old says, "Mr. Neal said he's my Daddy, is _that_ true?"

"Yes," Alex answers, because she won't lie to their daughter; not outright at least, not when asked directly. It wasn't supposed to happen like this, she wasn't supposed to find out this way, but now she has, they're both going to do what they can to fix it, to make this right. He's not alone. She's with him on this.

"But… but I only just met Mr. Neal," Camille replies, and the confusion on her face is unsettling to see. "Daddy is 's'posed to be always and forever – like Mommy – and Mr. Neal's only now, I only just met him, how can he be always and forever like you Mommy?"

He tears his eyes away, because he can't watch; he'd put his hands over his ears and try and dull the sound too if he could, because her words are just as heartbreaking. _This _is what hurt is; and it is incomparable to anything he's ever felt before; it is incomparable because nothing can even come close to what he feels for his daughter.

"He is always and forever, Cami," her mother tells her softly. "He's not your Daddy now; he's always been your Daddy. I kept it a secret."

"But why?" their daughter asks. "You like Mr. Neal and he likes you and I like him too and he reads me stories and buys me things and he always _always _listens to everything I have to say and he's fun and – is that why you left? Are you leaving me here with him? Don't you want me anymore?"

"What? No!" Alex reacts loudly, and hastens to explain further, "Of course I want you, I could never leave my Chameleon, you know that – always and forever, remember? I just had to go sort out some things of Gruncle's as I told you. I thought you and Neal would like to spend some time together, and when I got back I was going to sit you down and tell you about the secret I'd kept, about Neal being your Daddy. Except Neal got too excited and couldn't wait to tell people even though you were within earshot."

He can hear the next words even as she neglects to voice them aloud; _which was stupid and irresponsible of him, the reckless __**cad**__. _It brings a smile to his lips as he thinks of Alex holding herself back for the sake of their child; he'd laugh if he wasn't still so on edge waiting to see what happens next.

"It was a bit of a shock," Camille admits.

"I'll bet it was," her mother agrees.

A sly smile crosses his daughter's lips as she says, "I should really get to tell you off for keeping such a secret, Momma. That wasn't very nice, especially since I do like Mr. Neal quite a lot."

He can't help it; there's a smile on his lips, and a feeling close to pride and amusement rising within.

"Is that so?" the elder prompts, and this amuses her too, he can hear it.

"Mhmm," Camille voices. "And you know you can't really give me into trouble for running – Mr. Neal's my Daddy now, and he runs all the time 'pparently, that's why they put that thing on his leg, 'member? So they know where he is."

"So they did," Alex responds with a brief laugh, and then she tells their little girl, "I am sorry for keeping it a secret, Cami, it was wrong of me, but at the time I thought it was for the best, to keep you safe and happy."

"Was it because of the story? The one Mr. Neal told me," their daughter inquires then. "When he went to jail because of that girl – that wasn't you, was it Mommy?"

"No, that wasn't me," Alex replies; and there's neither bitterness nor regret in her tone, merely simple fact.

"Good," Camille responds, surprising him as she then smiles contentedly and sends another glance his way before she looks to her feet and shrugs, scuffing her heel off the floor. "But I s'pose Mr. Neal couldn't really have been my Daddy when he was in jail, so it wasn't too bad a secret Mommy, and he still likes you – and me – so he can be my Daddy now, yes? Except it's not now, but always and forever, isn't that right, Mommy?"

He hears a chuckle from the other end of the line that compliments the brilliant smile that's blossomed on his own face at his daughter's words.

And then his little girl turns to him and poses the question, "That's right, isn't it? You'll be my Daddy now and always and forever?"

He nods, because he's still not quite found his words; amazed by how well she suddenly seems to be taking this, especially after her initial reaction and her behavior up to the moment she got on the phone with her mother.

"You found me, and you'll never let me go, right, Mr. Neal?" she continues, eyes bright once more and voice as hopeful as her expression. "That's what you said, because you're my Daddy, right?"

"Right," he finally breathes out.

She beams at him; literally _beams_, like she's stolen a ray of sunshine and swallowed it whole, plucked stars from the midnight sky and swapped them for her gorgeous baby blues.

"Mr. Neal says he's my Daddy, Mommy, always and forever," Camille informs her mother, her voice a melody that he'll never grow tired of listening to. "But what – what do Daddies do? Will he be diff'rent from before? When he played with me and read me stories and bought me things and listened to _everything _I had to tell him? Because that was fun and I liked that and I don't want him to change, Mommy. That wouldn't be so fun."

He hears laughter once more, and then Alex says, "No, Cami, he won't be different; that's just Neal. He'll still do all those things. Would you still like to stay with him? And then you can ask him and see what he does, hmm? He's never had a daughter before."

"Can I?" There's excitement in her voice, alight on her little face, and it makes him smile all the more, and then he laughs as she sobers and reminds her mother ever so seriously, "_I've_ never had a _Daddy_ before either, Mommy."

"Of course you can stay with me," he answers for her, loud enough for Alex to hear.

"Mommy, Mr. Neal says I can still stay with him and he'll tell me and show me what it's like to have a Daddy, to be _my _Daddy," their daughter informs the elder.

"I'm sure he'd like you to _call _him Daddy too," her mother suggests at that, and he can tell through her amusement that she's pleased by how this is turning out too. Sure, their daughter might not fully understand what's going on, what lead them to this point even, but it's a start, a step in the right direction; it's the beginning of his true relationship with his daughter as her _Daddy_. No matter what happens, he has to be grateful for that.

"Would you?" Camille spins round to ask him.

Of course he would, but he doesn't want to push it; God knows he's let his mouth run away with him already today. So, he plays for diplomacy, and replies instead, "If you want to, you can call me that, but if you'd rather call me Mr. Neal – "

"Oh, no!" the six-year-old cuts him off, and then catches herself, remembers the manners her mother has instilled in her. "I mean, I _like _calling you Mr. Neal, but you're my Daddy now – well always – you just didn't find me 'till now, so I should call you Daddy instead of Mr. Neal, no?"

She's offering him this moment, this moment that'll last a lifetime actually, and so he smiles at her, brilliant and effortless, as he tells her truthfully, "I'd like that."

"I have to go now, Mommy," Camille announces, and their daughter's eyes never leave his as she shows him the gloriously stunning smile that she stole from him and declares, "Daddy and I are going to go home."

He doesn't think he's ever heard anything so amazing. His girl could make music with her words, her voice; and if that was all he heard for the rest of his life, he'd be content to spend forever in her echo.

.

TBC…

* * *

Thanks so much for reading and reviewing - it really does mean alot to me, so please continue to do so :)  
Steph  
xxx


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

.

"_A daughter is a day brightener and a heart warmer."  
__**Unknown**_

.

Camille is gathering up her things with Elizabeth while Peter waves Jones and Diana off, so Neal takes the time to stare out the window as darkness begins its descent, breathes in the calm and the quiet.

"What're you so afraid of, Neal?"

He has his hands in his pockets, sways back and forth a touch, a million-dollar smile plastered across his face; the perfect picture of ease. He turns slowly to look at his partner and returns, "What makes you think I'm afraid of anything?"

Peter can see right through it though. He tilts his head and just sends Neal a look that tells him he doesn't believe this act for a second.

Neal deflates a tad, shrugs, finally quietly admitting, "Maybe I don't want to make the mistakes my father made with me."

"I thought you told me your father died when you were two," Peter says to that, and then dismisses the thought with a quick wave of the hand. "Nevermind that, look what you have with Camille – you can't compare that to what your dad did or didn't have with you. You've seen the kid; she might be yours, but she's also Alex's."

He deliberates over this; it's true, but the reservations are still there.

"Neal, you are not your father," Peter tells him plainly.

"I know," Neal manages to reply, a beat too late.

"I don't think you do," is the counter-response, as Peter stands up from his chair and walks around the desk to stand before him.

He places his hands on Neal's shoulders, ensuring he has his full attention when he speaks next.

"History won't be repeating itself anytime soon, Neal," his partner assures him. "I've seen you at work. And sure, you can be a little crooked at times, and your treatment of the rules and boundaries are definitely ragged around the edges, but I know I can count on you. To do your job, to do what's right; I know you've got my back."

"Peter – " he tries to cut in, throwing his gaze to the side.

His partner's grip on him doesn't loosen to accommodate.

"And I've seen you with _her_," Peter continues, looking pointedly at him. "I've seen how you are with Camille, how you talk to her, how you interact with her. The first night you met her you told me you love her, that you can never lose her."

He ducks his head this time, because the memories are still fresh and the smell of fruit from somewhere in the office throws him back to the stack he has in his kitchen. Preparation; he won't be caught off guard again. Not when it's his daughter's life at stake.

"You're a good man, Neal Caffrey, and you love your daughter," his partner tells him; saying it in such a way that it's like he's just confirming what the universe knows, what the young man should never have any cause to doubt.

He nods slowly, taking this in, and then he meets Peter's eyes. "Thank you," he says, but a small token of his gratitude.

"Don't mention it," Peter replies easily, and then he grins. "Besides, you're still under FBI jurisdiction for another few years."

Neal shoots him a look.

Peter's smile doesn't waver, as he shrugs at him and finishes, "We look out for our friends."

.

They've just started making pizza when the door swings open and Mozzie saunters into his apartment.

"Did you know Mr. Neal's my Daddy?" are his daughter's first words to their visitor, as she turns to take stock of Moz's presence and send him a wide smile.

Her mood has perked up considerably since she made a run for it earlier; her easy acceptance of the situation and ability to adapt still has him somewhat baffled, he'll admit, but he can't help but be reminded of himself. She's a _chameleon_; she takes after _both_ of her parents. It's a good thing too, else he imagines the situation could've gone _a lot _worse.

"Well, he is," the six-year-old informs her parents' friend. "But just 'cos we only know now doesn't mean it's not always and forever, isn't that right, Daddy?"

"That's right, Camille," he dutifully agrees, and then he winks at her and nudges her in the side, teasingly distracting her from her attempts at making the pizza dough.

She giggles and nearly topples over in the small stool she's standing on, hands elbow deep in the bowl as she mixes the ingredients, powder and all sorts flying up and covering the too-big-for-her apron she's wearing as well as her face.

She coughs and he steps up to wipe the flour and residue from her eyes and when she blinks and opens them to reveal those phenomenal blue eyes she inherited from him, he's grinning down at her and she dissolves into another fit of giggles.

"Hand me the wine," Mozzie requests, throwing out his arm towards them and casting his gaze to the side as he releases a dramatic sigh to accompany his equally theatrical act. "I'm going to need it to deal with this crèche I've inadvertently stepped into in place of my friend's former idea of a bachelor pad."

He moves across to the couch, muttering _Daddy Neal_ as he goes, and swallows the entire contents of the first glass as soon as he's finished pouring it. He flops himself down onto the cushions and then throws a hand over his face as if to shield his eyes from the sight of the happy father-daughter-duo.

"Wake me when the food's ready and not a moment sooner!" he loudly declares from his place across the room.

"In every real man a child is hidden that wants to play," Neal calls over in return.

Silence follows, and he turns to see Camille looking at him with slightly pursed lips; the question kept tightly within.

"A quote by Friedrich Nietzsche," he explains to his daughter.

"Playing me at my own game," Mozzie remarks, and Neal twists round to see his friend standing up from the sofa and walking purposefully towards him. "Alright, I'll join you, but just know that you'll regret asking for my help."

"I never – "

"My culinary skills far surpass those of your _Daddy_," Mozzie interrupts him to enlighten his six-year old and appears to take great pleasure in doing so as he sidles up to her, sending a smug grin of his own across to Neal as she immediately responds to his teaching. "Come here, I'll show you how to knead the dough, your _Daddy _has you doing it all wrong."

He rolls his eyes at his friend, while his daughter relishes the added attention.

"You know, for someone so versatile with the various materials the art world has to offer, you've yet to really transfer those skills to the kitchen," Mozzie continues to tease him, shaking his head at Neal's apparent inadequate level of skill compared to his own. "It's a shame really."

"I guess it's a good thing you're here then to teach _my daughter_ how to _make a pizza_ to the best of her ability, isn't it?" he returns, shaking his head at how surreal this whole situation is.

"Don't be bitter because I can best you at something," Mozzie chides him as the corners of his mouth lift and he grins at Neal. "There's a reason I was known as the Master."

"Who called you that?" Neal questions in response, laughing. "You're thinking of Karate Kid, Moz. You need to spend less time at Tuesday."

This results in a scowl from his friend. "_Tuesday_ was compromised, as well you know." He huffs and drops his head to concentrate on his task at hand, while Neal puts minimum effort into suppressing a smile at Mozzie's mood, as the other snootily informs him, "And I don't divulge the identities of my students, clients, what have you – _as well you know_. It's bad for business."

He bursts out laughing at that, doesn't even try to hide his amusement, and though his daughter has no idea what has him so amused the giggles are soon spilling from her tiny frame. And he watches as the corners of his friend's mouth twitch upwards until he's unable to resist the sight and sound of his daughter's joy and the three of them are laughing, loud and free, the ripples of their hilarity reaching every corner of the room and soaring out the open balcony doors to the night sky.

It still amazes him how much he smiles, genuinely, and laughs, heartily, whenever his daughter's around. It's not difficult to see that she's enriched his life. Now he just has to try to return the favor and prove that his presence has a better influence on Camille than his absence.

.

Putting Camille to bed turned out to be an easier task than he'd originally thought. The events of earlier coupled with all the energy expended during the continual merriment of the pizza-making session that carried over into the pizza-eating session fairly tired her out. Then Mozzie turned on the TV and _just happened_ to come across a movie that he insisted they watch, fitting Neal with a look and announcing that her _Daddy_ had a duty to show Camille it else she be left to suffer from a lack of understanding of pop culture and general social detriment in the modern world, they'd huddled together on the sofa and settled down to watch. At some point Camille had crawled into his lap and fallen asleep and Neal found another reason to be ever grateful that he had a daughter; it got him out of sitting through Mozzie's horrendous film-choices. God knows June was a better partner for Moz in that respect.

Mozzie left and he sat outside on the patio and pulled out his phone, dialing a familiar number. She picked up a Hell of a lot quicker than last time. Go figure.

He regales her with the activities that followed their earlier conversation, and he can tell she's genuinely pleased for him, for their daughter.

Neal shakes his head, still marveling, "I just can't believe it was that – "

"Easy?" Alex fills in for him, and then laughs. "I can."

He frowns, because although he's ecstatic by this occurrence, he can't help but feel like he should be waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Were you not listening? You buy her things, you play with her, you read her stories, _you listen to everything she says_ – she's six, Neal, and she's liked you from the moment she met you. Finding out you're her _Daddy_ is a bonus as far as she's concerned," she enlightens him, and he can tell she's rolling her eyes as she says it, smiling despite herself.

It makes him smile as he thinks of her; he's always enjoyed being able to read her like no one else. He likes to

"So just continue to do what I've been doing?" he surmises.

"Pretty much," she returns, more nonchalantly than he imagines either of them are feeling about the situation.

"And just make of being _Daddy _what I will?" he concludes and finds himself grinning.

"That'd be about the gist of it," she agrees.

"Wonderful," Neal proclaims.

"That's the life we lead," Alex practically sing-songs and he laughs along with her, sees her toasting their lives as parents in the forefront of his mind; because who'd have ever thought their lives would turn out like this? Not to mention, who'd have ever thought they'd make it work?

Damn, they're good.

.

He's dozing on the patio when he's hit with the memory from not so long ago, mere days in fact, when he'd watched in awe as Alex sang their daughter to sleep.

"Cami, Cami, Cami, Cami, Cami, Chameleon."

He'd been leaning against the doorway; eyes fixated on the sight as Alex stroked Camille's caramel locks, her own eyes fixated on their little girl's soft features, her fluttering eyelashes, as the words fell soft and lyrical from her lips.

"What?" she'd questioned as soon as she'd ensured the six-year-old was sleeping soundly and had given him a shove out the door, closing it behind her.

"Nothing," he'd answered, barely stifling a laugh by that point. "It's adorable really."

She'd rolled her eyes, of course, and pushes past him with a halfheartedly annoyed, "Shut up, Neal."

"You really love her, don't you?" he'd said, and he can still hear the slight awe in his own voice even now.

She'd let out a laugh; another strand of sound he's found to be music to his ears.

"You're only realizing this now?" she'd asked with a raised eyebrow of slight disbelief.

"No, it's just – " he'd started to defend himself when she cut him off.

"After you hear me sing a ridiculous 80's song to get our daughter to sleep?" she'd continued, shaking her head. "You're unbelievable, Caffrey."

She'd patted his chest then, the heat of her palm spreading over the place above his heart.

"It's no wonder she loves you," she'd remarked and she'd smiled, beautiful and free, until she'd seen him return it.

.

"Daddy," he hears a small voice pull him from his memory to the present.

He looks over to see Camille standing by the door, hair like a messy halo around her head, with one hand hanging by her side, _Casper_ dangling from her tiny fist, and the other rubbing tiredly at her eye.

"I can't sleep," she tells him, and he can hear the pout in her tone. She's unbelievably adorable, and she's his.

"Alright," he says decisively, promptly standing up from the couch and making a beeline straight for her. "Let's see if we can do something about that, hmm?"

She nods drowsily, and he smiles down at her, placing his hand gently behind her head as he leads her through the door and back to bed.

Putting her to bed might be easy; getting her to sleep is an entirely different matter.

"What if I sing you your song?" Neal suggests, fresh out of options after running through _numerous _ideas already.

"No, that's Mommy's song for me," Camille tells him simply.

His face falls a touch; he doesn't intend it, and he's completely understands, but he can't help that it still hurts at times to be reminded of all his daughter shares with her mother and how little they have together.

His daughter apparently picks up on his upset, before he has the chance to mask it: honestly, sometimes he wonders how he ever lasted so long in the business, nevermind what Peter thinks.

"But maybe we could have one too," she proposes quietly, with a smile.

And then an idea comes to him, something the three of them can share, together; something that _their family_ can join in with too.

"How about a story?" he counters, smiling brightly down at his daughter's sleepy face. "Did Mommy ever tell you about a great treasure that was hidden in the ocean?"

"No," she replies, drawing out the word, as she lifts her hand to cover the yawn she then releases.

"Well, many years ago there was a very important man whose job it was to take messages from submarines," he begins, and watches his daughter's enraptured gaze drink in every word. "And that man was Mommy's grandfather."

"Really?" Camille asks, amazement coloring her words.

"Really." Neal nods. "One day he received a very special message… "

And that was how the story of the music box became Camille's favorite bedtime story. Well, the abridged, child-friendly version; but still an accurate, historical account of her parent's greatest feat. That is to say: her parent's greatest feat after her, of course.

.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

We're nearing the end, so I'm a little late in posting this, but here it is anyway :) I'm an absolute geek and consider half my 'research' for fics to be completely getting to know my characters, so to speak – including images of look-alikes for reference and the type of clothes they'd wear and such – so there are some pictures relating to this fic on my photobucket if anyone wants to check them out. There's not a huge number, basically some of Camille's outfits and the girl I mostly envision playing Camille's character – or there abouts ;)  
If you just google 'truglasgowgal, photobucket' and click on the album 'You Stole My Smile' that might be easier than me trying to link here with spaces in between every bit that then have to be deleted in turn to get to the site, so feel free to check it out if you're that way inclined :)

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think – it truly does mean so much to me  
Steph  
xxx


	17. Chapter 17

Apologies for the delay in posting and not replying to reviews – I was having _issues_ with the site.

Hope you enjoy :)

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Chapter Seventeen

.

"_There's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself."  
__**John Gregory Brown**_

.

The next couple of days pass without any incidents, and it occurs to him how normal, natural, it feels to simply spend time with his daughter. The morning rituals they've established; her helping him pick out a tie and him helping her choose a hair piece among the most fun.

Today's choice for her a thick gray knitted hat, rolled over at the brim and slouching in layers at the top of her spine, her unruly light brown locks scattered over her shoulders. He's managed to get her to have a bath before bed, but she'd banned him from brushing her hair afterwards after his first attempt; even he'll admit, it wasn't his best display, but he has a sneaking suspicion the outcome might've been _slightly_ tamer the morning after. No doubt Alex's horror at the sight of their six-year-old's usually gorgeous, shiny tresses in such disarray will manifest in the verbal beat-down he imagines he's still due over letting slip about the whole "I'm your real father" that could've easily resulted in disaster for all of them.

"Are we going to go sightseeing again today?" Camille inquires over breakfast, taking a sip of orange juice from her wine glass, and smiling widely around the rim. "Or to the park again?"

"Whatever you want," Neal answers, smiling easily at her across the table.

He's aware he can't let her get her own way _all _the time, but it's just so damn hard to say no to anything she suggests when she looks at him with those big blue eyes and that smile that realistically melts his heart; sappy or not, he defies anyone to deny they love their daughter if they were in his position.

And then it hits him; he's not actually _told _her he loves her yet. If there wasn't so much proof to the contrary, he'd seriously be questioning his intelligence right about now.

"Hey, Camille," he says, and reaches across to drop his hand on her arm, tugging at the light white material of her top to get her attention and avoid having the sleeve smeared in jam.

White at the table; you'd think he'd have been paying more attention during their first meal together, but he's always claimed to be more of an optimist than anything; he's hopeful she'll manage not to spill anything on the so-far-unblemished linen. Failing that, he's hoping her black waistcoat saves the day, and whatever happens to stain it will simply blend in with the darkness of the material. He's not a complete novice, he got her to wear the black shorts instead of the white ones: apart from claiming they go with the rest of her ensemble better (in truth, his little girl could wear anything and he'll still think she's the most gorgeous thing he's ever laid eyes on), they're his back-up plan if the spillage misses its first targets; optimistic _opportunist _that he is.

"Yes, Daddy?" Camille responds, and looks up from where she's meticulously buttering her toast.

"You know how we've been spending time, trying to work out together what it is a Daddy does for his daughter," he tells her and watches her place the pieces back on her plate in turn.

She nods, murmurs her agreement, and patiently waits for him to continue.

"Well, I know something that a Daddy does – I knew it the moment I met you, in fact," he enlightens her, and his tone lifts as the corners of his mouth do.

"Really?" his daughter inquires, tilting her head to the side to survey him, biting her lip to control the speed of her growing smile before it forms a full-out grin and she implores of him, "Do tell, Daddy."

"Well, I know that a Daddy loves his little girl," Neal answers.

"And you know this because you love your little girl?" Camille inquires; the picture of innocence and harmless curiosity.

He laughs; he knows better.

"That's right," he replies. "I love my little girl."

She's not letting him off that easy though; she wouldn't be her mother's daughter if she did.

She bites her lip again, and the apples of her cheeks are rosy-red as they sit high above the curving corners of her lips. "How much?" Camille questions, eyebrows lifting in anticipation; she's more amused as she awaits his answer than anything. "Do you love your little girl all the way round the world?"

"As many times as I could go," he answers effortlessly.

"Do you love her all the way to the moon?" she queries next.

"And back," he responds, not missing a beat.

"Do you love her more than anyone in the _entire universe_?" the six-year-old inquires, not even bothering to hide her growing smile now.

"More than anyone or anything," Neal tells her, and he's sharing in her smile, sharing in this moment; loving it, loving _her_.

Camille nods, seemingly content with these responses.

"That's quite a lot," she awards him in her put-on serious tone.

He laughs. "It is."

"I'm going to hug you now," she tells him, and with a flash of a smile she's doing just that.

Before Neal can respond, she's scraped back her chair, hopped down from the seat and skipped over to him to scramble up into his lap and put her arms around him.

His arms come around her tiny frame and he closes his eyes as he breathes her in, her caramel locks brushing against his chin to tickle a smile from him that matches his daughter's perfectly.

This child – this girl – _his _child – _his_ girl – _his_ daughter.

Camille.

It still astonishes him, humbles him even, to think that he contributed to this amazing little six-year-old.

She pulls back to look in his eyes, as blue as her own, and as if it's the most simple, obvious statement ever created, she says, "I love you too, you know."

He smiles, wide and bright and reflected right back at him in one of the most stunning sights he's ever had the pleasure and privilege of witnessing. He loves her; she loves him: happy days; happy _family_.

And with a smile of her own, one that tells of truth and happiness, she tells him, "I'm glad you're my Daddy."

He gives her waist a squeeze and elicits a giggle from her as he continues to smile right back at her. "I'm glad I'm your Daddy too."

"You match Mommy," Camille tells him gleefully. "She loved me first time she saw me _and_ she loves me most of all too!"

"That's a lot of love for one little girl," is the response she receives.

"That's because she's our little girl," Neal returns, and he looks up to winks at Alex as she stands watching them, grinning as she laughs and inclines her head towards him; _touché._

"Mommy!" their daughter squeals with joy, leaping from his arms to sprint as fast as her little legs will carry her, her black ballet flats slapping off the stone patio with every excited step she takes closer towards her mother.

Her little legs, made longer in appearance by the tan she sports, he notes, look _even longer_ in those ridiculously short shorts she's wearing: did he let her wear those? He's thinking of introducing regulations in the length of her clothing: shorts, skirts, dresses; they all have to be _least _to the knee. Effective immediately. That way, he might have some hope by the time she's a teenager, or twenty, or thirty – or _never _– when boys start to come a-knocking. God help him when that day comes.

His girl throws herself at her mother, who catches her and swings her up in the air, showering her with kisses much to the six-year-old's continued delight.

Alex walks towards him with Camille in her arms and Neal stands from the table, moving to meet them with a smile.

"Daddy was just telling me how much he loves me, Mommy," their daughter informs her mother; immensely pleased with herself and the outcome and it couldn't be more apparent by the expression on her young face. "All the way round the world! To the moon and back! And more than anyone or _anything _else in the _universe_! That's the same as you, huh, Momma? 'Cos you loved me when you saw me and you love me most of all. So Daddy matches you, Momma, and you match him."

"_Daddy _and I match, huh?" Alex replies, and he watches with her as their little girl nods, beaming up at her parents.

She turns to him then, positively glowing with their daughter in her arms, and knocks her elbow against his so he looks up from their girl's baby blue eyes; has to try containing her smile when he's finally able to move his attention from Camille to her.

"We match."

.

"Mozzie has something to say," Neal announces and then looks to the man in question to elaborate.

"Since we're all renegotiating the terms of our _relationships_," their friend declares. "I would hereby like to be referred to as _Uncle Mozzie_."

A beat passes and Alex's eyebrows are raised in quiet observation before she eventually replies, "You're serious?"

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at the lot of them as she exhales.

"Wonderful," she remarks, throwing her hands up in the air. "This family just keeps growing and growing."

He can tell she's secretly happy about it, she just won't show it. He grins as he looks between them all. The holidays are certainly going to be interesting.

.

Apparently another big dinner was in order to mark their 'progress'; nothing gets past June after all, and nothing gets past the others either, as they all earned revamped titles of _Uncle _and _Aunt_ much to the absolute delight of all those involved. If his daughter isn't spoiled already, she will be now. Not that he's exactly complaining or condemning the idea; he doubts he'll be able to say no to her. Contrary to what others may believe, he has a tricky enough time saying no to Alex; it's not difficult to see where their daughter inherited the trait. Although she seems to have the same trouble, so he imagines they both played their part.

"Thanks for letting her stay with me," he says later that night, when they've finally got a moment alone while _Uncle Mozzie _entertains Camille and June chats to Peter and Elizabeth.

Alex nudges him in the side, tongue poking out between her teeth. "No problem, _Daddy_."

A fond smile crosses his lips, and Neal ducks his head, admitting, "She must've said it like a thousand times."

"You didn't keep count?" she teases, with a lift of the eyebrows. "Wow, I thought for sure you'd have a tally running."

He sends her a sideways look, mouth still curved upwards. "Would you believe I lost count?"

She laughs, can well imagine.

"There's nothing quite like it, is there? The love she gives you," Neal marvels, after a moment; nothing quite like hearing your daughter call out for you, seeing that extraordinary smile of hers directed at you, watching her brilliant blue eyes light up at the sight of you, feeling the love _she _has for _you_.

And he can see it too, why someone would want to keep such treasure for themselves. It's priceless, _unmatched_ – their little girl, their daughter, Camille – how could anyone want anything more than what she gives them, than what she is?

He feels the same way she does, he sees and hears the same things she does. They love Camille and she loves them and not even the greatest discovery the art world has ever seen could compare to that.

"No," she says, as she turns to him and smiles, "There's nothing like it at all."

Neal looks at Alex and he can see where their daughter stole her beauty from at the same time as she stole his smile.

He doesn't have to look down to know their hands have found one another, that it is her palm that fits so flawlessly against his own, her fingers that fill the spaces between his completely.

They match.

.

His daughter is asleep in his arms, attached like a spider monkey on his front, and Neal holds onto her tight as he walks instinctively in sync with Alex's steps. She fidgets and Alex reaches across to run her hand affectionately over Camille's crown, fingers threading gently through the light brown tresses that flow over the curve of her spine, her expression serene as she gazes down at their daughter.

Camille calms at her mother's touch, snuggling further into her father's embrace, the material of his shirt fisted in her little hands and her chameleon sidekick filling the space between her heart and his.

"What happened to me representing some wonderful fantasy that was just out of reach?" he asks, watching for her reaction over their daughter's head.

She smiles, lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. "This is for Cami."

Neal leans over and drops a tender kiss to Alex's hairline and feels her smile against his skin as all eyes return to their daughter.

He thinks that sums it up perfectly.

.

_"Certain is it that there is no kind of affection so purely angelic__ as of a father to a daughter. In love… to our daughters there is something which there are no words to express."  
__**Joseph Addison**_

.

TBC… Epilogue to follow.

* * *

Thanks so much for reading thus far, one more part and then this is completely complete ;)  
Please let me know what you think, it means a lot :)  
xxx


	18. Chapter 18, Epilogue

So interest seems to have dwindled somewhat in the past couple of chapters, must be something I said – wrote :/ lol nevertheless here is the final chapter/epilogue which I hope you enjoy…

* * *

Epilogue

.

"_A daughter is a gift of love."  
**Unknown**_

.

It's Camille's first day and Alex just _knows_ something is about to happen. She can feel it in her bones; can hear it in her daughter step as she saunters across the stage towards the microphone; can see it in the twinkle of her eyes reflected by the light and the way the corner of her mouth is already tugging upwards in a self-satisfied little smirk.

And Alex just _knows_ her daughter is about to do something.

It's like looking at Neal.

.

As a means of welcoming the new students, the children had been asked to each say a little about themselves and to bring along something for a show-and-tell, of sorts, that would be of interest to the class.

Naturally, Camille has brought her father and _naturally_, Neal hasn't stopped talking about it since the moment their daughter asked him. She imagines Peter gave him the day off in the mere hope that it would mean he could escape from it all; no such luck, since Elizabeth and Peter stand on one side of her, with June and Mozzie on the other. Neal had taken great delight in insisting they all be present for this _family _day out.

Camille introduces herself and Alex watches Neal's face light up in pride as she incorporates his surname as her own. She greets the teachers, and recites her little rehearsed speech as if she was simply improvising right there and then; and then comes her finale.

"This is my Daddy," her daughter says, holding out her arm to gesture to him as he does a bow for the audience. "And he's a 'ternationally-known art thief."

And that's when things start to turn a tad chaotic.

Arms are crossed over chests, hands are on hips; the immediate demand for answers is almost laughable as children start to shout and run around, making the most of the loophole in attentive parental and teacher supervision.

All Alex can see, however, are the two most important people in her life standing side by side, center stage.

And from where she's sitting, she has a perfect view of their matching smiles.

She rolls her eyes; they couldn't look more pleased with themselves if they tried.

The magician's costume doesn't help matters, of course, and Camille seems to relish in the moment as she flips her top hat into her awaiting hand and does an extravagant bow for the crowd.

She might have to throttle Caffrey when they get home; he's enjoying corrupting their daughter entirely too much.

.

Elizabeth has a hand on her chest, while the other is making a poor attempt to cover the smile on her face; she finds the whole act endearing, Alex can tell, _so very Neal_.

June has her hands clasped together, pressed at the spot by her heart, her face brimming with delight; she does so love to watch them as they perform.

Peter can only shake his head, as he mutters _Neal, Neal, Neal_; but there's more affectionate in his tone whenever he speaks to his partner and Alex imagines it has a lot to do with a certain father-daughter charm she knows all too well.

Mozzie throws his hands up in the air and casts his gaze across to her and with the apparent thought: _it's Neal, what you going to do?_

.

Neal lifts Camille up, balancing her on his side – for a better view of what she's accomplished; Alex isn't oblivious to the way his mind works, narcissist that he is – and she catches his eye.

He knocks their daughter's hand so the top hat goes flying upwards, and he performs a little trick of his own, before placing the hat on their daughter's head. It slides down and her bangs cover her eyes, so he flicks the rim up and Camille grins giddily under the visor at him, a look he wholeheartedly returns.

There's no doubt it's genuine, but damn do they know how to work a crowd.

Camille turns to seek her out, and waves frantically at Alex when she finds her, her other arm looped around Neal's neck playing havoc with his collar so it eventually flips up and adds to his effortlessly cool look. She smiles easily back at her little girl, because of course Camille decides to create mayhem on her first day of school, and expects to get away with it with naught but a smile.

It's not difficult to wonder who she gets that idea from.

She shakes her head at Neal, but she can't rid herself of the smile, and he simply holds out his free hand with a grin and shrugs; he's in his element.

He's so damn unapologetic it makes Alex's smile lift even more.

With both legs and arms wrapped around her father, Camille drops her head onto his shoulder and Neal turns to press a kiss into her hair.

Alex can see her daughter's little smirk a mile off.

Not only do they both look immensely proud of themselves, but they are shamelessly adorable, and they know it.

All Alex can do is stand and stare at them, enchanted, and then she lifts her hands and applauds.

The quartet that surround her join in with the clapping and all eyes are once again on them.

And she can feel it: with June and Mozzie next to her, Peter and Elizabeth by her side; in the middle of this large, vast crowd, staring up at Neal as he holds Camille in his arms.

She can feel the connections they've created, the energy that harmonizes them, how easily they fit into each other's lives.

She can feel the family that they've created, the ripples of all that they hold dear settling around them; and there really is nothing like it.

It's magic.

It's love.

.

_"My accidental happily ever after  
The way you smile and comfort me with your laughter  
I must admit, you were not part of my book  
But now if you open it up and take a look  
You're the beginning and ending of every chapter."  
_**'_Never Knew I Needed', Ne-Yo and Cassandra Steen_**

.

The End.

* * *

I have the basics of a sequel planned out, although I'm not sure if I'll end up able to flesh it out enough to type up and post. So if I do post it, I hope you'll join me in another journey with this story and these characters, and if not, I thank you sincerely for your interest and participation thus far.  
Thank you all so much for reading/reviewing/favouriting/alerting.  
Steph  
xxx


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